


LoS

by Socialdisention



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Everyone Is An Asshole, Foul Language, Hana has a crush, Hanzo has enhanced legs, INCREDIBLY SLOW BURN, M/M, Plot Driven, Slow Burn, Terrible Translations, Violence, angst without comfort, hate to friendship to love, mention of Talon, right after the recall, there is no god here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-11-08 04:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 74,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socialdisention/pseuds/Socialdisention
Summary: He longed for death but would not inflict wounds upon himself lest the act redeem him of the very thing he ran from. Then and now. So he threw himself against the worst, the horrifying, and gruesome in vain attempts to meet his demise by the hand of some no name in a dirty alley. Left to rot and violated by rats.But they all failed. Each time a new corpse hit the ground by his hand his chest swelled too tightly. Nobody was as grounded and disciplined as a Shimada. Pride threatened him even when he left the very thing he had striven to be. They were simply incapable, and Hanzo Shimada did not tolerate weakness.





	1. In the Sea of Black

**Author's Note:**

> This is strictly a self indulgent fiction of a coupling I've grown to enjoy. There is no fluff or romance here, just broken men finding a foothold. I'm not sorry.
> 
> To those that enjoy these things, help yourself.

He didn't carry his bow. Not when he needed to remain anonymous to the public, which he chose to do on jobs where he wasn't alone. There were plenty of definite times when he showed his signature; single assassinations, pilfering of compounds, threats, warnings. It was advertisement, above all. Mercenary circles were tight and the snipers were smaller still. However there was only one that that fancied the archaic method of a bow and arrow.

The stock of the rifle settled comfortably against his chest, an uncommon feeling but not all unfamiliar. The comm crackled in his ear, a thin reedy voice announced the arrival of the targets followed by several locations and an ETA of fifteen minutes. Hanzo's role was about as simple as it gets; one target among several. Marco Charles, vice CEO of SurTech Industries who revolutionized the marriage of synthetic muscle tissue to hardlight nerve connections making the overall process significantly inexpensive and available to omnics worldwide. Or even, those with prosthetics. The technology was readily available, which couldn't be shut down, so Hanzo took the position with relative ease. Contracts like these favored heavily on the political side. An envious rival company, underhanded ways to shut down monopolies. He cared little for the reasoning and didn't ask.

Talon would not have provided answer anyway.

Little was known on the group itself, more rumor than solid facts. Rumors settling to call them terrorists. Another reason to keep his signature clean. Even when the job was a global successes, and it will be, he wasn't going to openly associate himself with them.

The payout was too good to ignore, however. Too high, and for a group that swelled in numbers it was more than a little suspicious. Running through the scenarios Hanzo settled on the reason; expendable. Talon didn't expect half of them to return and therefore jimmied up the price to catch many an eye, including his own. And from all walks of life too, from what he can tell, as someone akin to a hyena cackled through the comms on occasion as well as a burst of guttural cursing in English too butchered to be from the UK. Perhaps Australia.

He shifted, tugging the hood down his brow, keeping the length of his hair hidden despite being near a kilometer away and fourteen stories high. No one was on the floors above level three at this time of day and the video feeds were on a timed loop. Still, he felt the itch of eyes.

Expendable. The thought punched to the forefront of his mind once more, an internal warning he should heed. Instead he shook his head and pushed it aside, confident in his own abilities to worry about a raid turning on itself.

“Five minutes.”

Hanzo stretched his right arm then his left, briefly rolling his shoulders to ease the kinks out of his neck. The courtyard lit up before the impressive golden building, a sizable crowd started to thrum with excitement. From his vantage point he could not see down the street to the oncoming vehicles; however, the view of the courtyard was the best shot from this angle he observed having spent nearly a week before scoping the area. This gave him a relatively small window, but he didn't need much. A single shot and he could pack up and exit the building within seven minutes. Whatever happened afterwords was not his concern.

“Two minutes.”

The crowd molded and wrapped around the single walkway. Flashes of cameras blinked overhead, drones swooped down low, trailing long red and gold banners.

“One minute.”

He saw them delivered from unseen vehicles. The men and women in tailored suites trickled down the walkway. A faded picture of his target propped up by the glass cutter on the windowsill several inches from where the barrel hovered. He scanned the faces, found his and waited.

“Thirty.”

He was tall, but not lanky. His hair was dusty blonde but his short beard had gone completely white with age. Closer to fifty if Hanzo would guess. The woman on his arm was at least twenty years his junior, but the same dusty blonde pegged her as his daughter.

“Fifteen.”

He evened his breathing now, narrowing the world around him and his target. Shame to ruin such a fine dress.

“Five.”

At some point or another, a voice trickled through the earbud. A soft, sultry woman's voice, singing breathy in French. It was soothing which only made it that much more unsettling.

“Three.” Hanzo exhaled.

“Two.”

“One.” He squeezed the trigger.

It was rather beautiful in a morbid sense, seeing a dozen of them fall simultaneously. The shots echoed together in a single ear shattering crack and suddenly bodies crumpled. The crowd had grown still with the initial shock before the panic started to ripple through them. Hanzo was already packing away the rifle, wasting no time in watching. The spectacle was impressive, if he had to admit it, but the internal alarms blazed even louder now and his gut twisted. Twelves shots. Twelve snipers. This wasn't a huge ordeal, so why the mass number of mercenaries?

The case buckled closed, tripod folded and slipped away. He was about to leave the destruction behind for good when movement outside the window caught his eye. A window in the building across the street from him, eleventh story, shattered as a form seemed to be _thrown_ through the debris. The man, from what he could see, twisted in the air, not even turning full circle before splattering on the pavement below. Almost instantly, another window in the soaring building adjacent shattered too followed by another falling body.

Hanzo didn't have a chance to watch a third as half a dozen footsteps thundered down the hallway at his back. He turned instinctively to the window with the carefully cut hole, but fourteen stories high on an office building. Skilled as he was he couldn't scale smooth glass. He grunted, annoyed by the inconvenience.

The door burst open but the archer was already diving behind the thick oak desk as a spattering of bullets followed his retreat. He pressed back against it, the sides splintering as the shots roared in the small office. Ambush? But how? Couldn't be police, couldn't be military. Couldn't be anyone, nobody reacted to a dozen targets instantly. Even if they were tipped off beforehand, why would they have waited until after the shots?

He palmed the dagger strapped to his chest, waiting for one to round the corner. A barrel showed first, quickly kicked high enough to clear the shots over his head, then sank the dagger into the hard flesh of a thigh. The man grunted and dropped a hand to the fresh wound, giving Hanzo the opening to grab for the shotgun, smacked the barrel down and the stock up, clocking the helmed man under the chin before it spun into his own hands. A quick heel kick to his kneecap snapped his leg backwards and the agent stumbled with a garbled scream, clutching at his leg.

Risking that as a distraction, Hanzo followed the writhing man down and shot from the hip, the wide spray caught one in the chest and another in the belly. He then leapt forward and slammed the stock down on one helmet with a satisfying crunch. He searched the body then, looking for something to identify who they were. Not police, not military. Time was ticking away, seven minutes had shrunk to five and he did not have time for this. Dropping the body, Hanzo collected his case and yanked the knife out of the leg, stepping over them to exit.

The reedy voice returned. “Six didn't fall. Report in for sniper six. Report!” The furthest downed agent groaned and panted, rolling onto his back and clutched at his chest. “Sniper six escaped. Repeat sni-” And then he saw Hanzo was still present, his own voice filtered through the snipers earpiece. “No! Wai--!” His scream was cut off with a gurgle as the blade easily tore open his throat.

So. That's how it was. Framed by their own sponsor.

Grabbing his case and sheathing his knife Hanzo slipped into the hallway. The rest of the building was silent, no more were waiting for him as he quickly descended to the ground floor. Apparently they had not expected retaliation. He found a service exit and stepped into the twilight, darkened further by the towering skyscrapers.

The alley was thin, littered with trash and overturned bins. In the distance he could make out the sparkling building of SurTech lit up by flood lights and hear the wailing of sirens.

Deep thunderous rumbling shook the asphalt beneath his feet. More screams, closer now. A glance to Surtech showed the golden skyscraper billowing in smoke at its base as it started to lean to the left.

Hanzo gawked. Terrorists. Talon were terrorists. His head hammered as the warnings spilled forth in full, kicking himself for being so stupid. This wasn't a simple mission for a couple clean kills and plummeting stocks.

Picking up the pace, he jogged to the north end of the alley, away from the attack, case snug against his back and hood fully drawn as he peeked into the busy street. Even at this distance startled yells drew attention to the slow cloud of dust seeping through the maze of streets.

Traffic was thick. Horns started to pick up in alarm as the panic spread. A taxi was out no cars would be useful. Stepping out into the crowd he matched paced with the pedestrians, blending in as he shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his head down. He didn't need to travel far, but it was slower on foot.

He had made it out, but the whole thing was a bust. Two weeks of planning wasted, travel fare, hotels, _another_ passport to add to his steadily growing collection. The death of a medical company trying to help the world. The daughter weeping while splattered in her fathers blood and brains. Still, his lone regret with the whole scenario was that he wasn't going to get paid.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda's buzzed around his head making his eyes sockets throb. He knew. _He knew_ and he did it anyway. With a sudden snarl of anger he grabbed for the comm to yank it out, the action causing his walking to stutter just enough that the bullet sailed right in front of him, sinking into the stone wall with a quiet thump and a puff of dust. Hanzo ducked instantly and threw himself against a parked car.

“Going so soon, petite mouche?” The silvery tone of the French woman hummed in his ear. “Do not presume you can hide from m-”

“Do not presume you can catch me.” Hanzo snapped back instantly, his temper already flared was now directed at something other than himself. “You have already shot and missed me. Announce me dead, return to your people. You will not see me again.”

By then, the building several streets over had completely crumbled as panic swept through the streets in full force. Cars were left abandoned in the streets and dust started to thicken in the air. An occasional scream rang above the loud shouts and stomping of rushing crowds as the buildings nearby were evacuated. Finding a shot in this chaos would be difficult.

Hanzo understood the silence from the other end, could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, having been verbally slapped from one sniper to another. She had no idea who she was dealing with. The sudden rush of pride was squelched as soon as it flared, shoved back into the darkened corner where it collected each time an assassin on his life failed. Where it would continue to churn and grow.

“Come out and play, mon cheri.” She returned, cooing playfully into his ear. A lesser man might shiver with want and rise to the bait. He yanked the comm from his ear and crushed it in his palm. Games were for the young and cocky. He would have to do this differently.

Sliding the rifle case from his shoulder he stashed it carefully beneath the care he hid beside, followed by the hooded jacket and knife harness. He rolled his sleeves down to cover his wrists and straightened the leggings of his pants as well, hiding the metallic shins. Smoothed fingers through his hair he yanked out the tie and gave himself a quick tussle, looking sloppy and unkempt. Wild. The crowds had thickened as more people fled ground zero, families clutching children, office workers sweating in their polyester as they clacked in heels.

He slid three cars down, mentally marked where he stashed his belongings. Worse case scenario he could always buy another rifle. And jacket. The people rushed, bumping into him while he waited until one family passed. A child was tugged along by a single woman, a baby clutched in her other arm as they hurried along. When they passed Hanzo grabbed the little boy's flailing hand and moved along with them, looking no more than a father ushering his family from the wreckage. The woman never noticed and the child merely stared silently up at him, gripping his hand tightly.

Several rows down he released the little hand and ducked into an abandoned cafe, pushing through the kitchen and slipping out the back exit into the quiet back alley. Without pause, he scaled the next low building and navigated by rooftop from there. Alive and unharmed he took stock of his loss, letting himself rifle through the events to pinpoint exactly where and when he slipped up. He would go over the details on the plane, calculated his gross losses and where to continue from there.

He did not, however, count his coming out unscathed a complete win. Of course he was alive. Catching a Shimada was difficult. Killing one was next to impossible.

At the time he didn't know how right he was.


	2. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later after the recall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my hardest to find decent translations, I truly did, but I know they're shit still. If you know Korean or Chinese and willing offer help I will gladly give credit where it's due.

_Tap, tap, tap_

Heavy raindrops obscured Hanzo's quick steps as they ghosted over the asphalt, jutting up to cracked concrete. Heavier thuds of combat boots were more discernible, along with the high whine of gears and the strobe of yellow light. He was quick, too quick. Hanzo paused in his sprint, risking a glance over his shoulder enough to catch the movement among the curtain of rain. Another second held in his hesitation until they spotted him. Spurred back into movement, he ducked into the narrow alley. His synthetic soles rippled into treads wide enough to catch friction on the oil slick ground.

Skirting the corner, he crouched behind an overstuffed dumpster, his gaze lifting to the high walls of brick. Four balconies, a dozen windows, and a fire escape with a ladder cut off ten feet above ground. Plenty of ways to escape and gain the high ground.

But he didn't need to. Not with these three huffing and puffing through the rain. He stilled, arrow notched and pressed assuredly to his cheek as he waited curled around the corner of the dumpster. Three seconds, four seconds. The rain thickened, sliding like a lovers touch between skin and cotton, seeping into the farthest reaches of folded cloth. Anymore time spent out here and he would have to invest in cough drops and tissues.

A puddle outside the alley rippled from something heavier than a raindrop. The arrow was loosed before the head came into view, lodging through the thin bone at the temple. He hit the ground before he knew he was dead.

Hanzo ducked back behind the dumpster as the alleyway lit up with gunfire, an odd blue compared to the usual strobe of white. Another arrow was notched during the thunderous roar and he aimed from his hidden position at a low hanging balcony, shooting the underside. It pulsed upon landing, revealing two shapes in the darkness. One bright and alive with reds, the other a cool blue, still at the mouth. He had reason to believe they were fledglings, recently snapped up by the kkangpae he couldn't even remember the name of, and were perhaps newly recruited. After firing into the alley with little result they stopped simultaneously to reload.

Or just plain stupid.

Hardly a sound was made as Hanzo pulled himself over the dumpster and launched himself at the closest one. The omnic was quicker in reaction but slow in execution, unable to lift the reloaded weapon before the archer's feet collided with its chest, which would have knocked it flat on it's ass if he hadn't grabbed an arm and whirled it around to face the last gunner, just as the magazine clicked into place. The omnic jerked in place as each shot slammed into it, Hanzo tucked behind, waiting yet again.

The firing continued joined by laughter, riding high on adrenaline, until the firing ceased after twelve rounds once again and stopped the laughter short. Steaming and slack from being shot to hell, the omnic lurched forward and the gunner scrambled out of the way as it flopped with a hiss into the water.

With his last bit of courage, the gangster launched forward, fist swinging just to be dodged, grabbed and swung around to be pounded into his ribs until they creaked. A wild fist thumped against Hanzo's jaw, grinding his teeth, but it was answered instantly with a heel strike to the underside of his chin, snapping his head back with the crack of teeth, reeling backwards until he clattered against the dumpster, gasping and clawing at his bleeding mouth.

“Igeo eodiseo nassni?” Hanzo bit out.

The gangster's face split into a defiant grin, smeared and jagged. Hanzo toed the sparking omnic and kicked it over onto its back. The emblem of a star fanged in teeth blazed on the omnic's shoulder. He grabbed the metallic wrist, stretched the arm then jabbed the tip of his bow into the bullet riddled joint. The wires stretched and sparked as it was worked back and forth until a final yank pulled the arm completely free of the torso. He slipped Stormbow over one shoulder and looked back to the remaining man.

“Ni cong na li de dao zhe ge?” Hanzo tried again.

Recognition flashed across the bloodied face before he burst into empty laughter, the bravado drowning in the downpour. “Qu nide!” he spat, wiping a trembling fist across his mouth.

Wielding the arm by the wrist, Hanzo swung. The first hit sliced twisted metal through soft flesh. The glint of silver splattered by thickened red as it cut through leather and cotton to shred skin to ribbons. The man screamed, clutched his face as it peeled from bone, and tried to kick away from the attack.

“Dafu!” Hanzo swung again, beating relentlessly at him, each swing leaving deep gashes over his arms and torso, until the sudden appearance of a presence halted his actions.

The play of light within the rain, synthetic green, but no sound. Not even the ripple of rain puddles beneath soft soles.

“Is that really necessary?” clipped the robotic tone behind him. Hanzo spared a glance toward Genji, holding the gaze against the thin line of green embedded within the face plate that showed little if anything. Slowly he lowered the omnic arm and let it clatter to the pavement.

Satisfied, Genji continued. “The other three didn't have much. Claimed they weren't from here though. They got the shipments from the usual: Hong Kong, Shang-Hai. Though, one mentioned Sendai.” He squatted to peer at the gun, touching his visor briefly to snap a picture before snagging it and pulled the magazine free. “They are spreading too quickly. This is bigger than I or even you can handle alone.” He slid it back in with a click and set it back down.

“I can handle it.” Hanzo turned back to the now whimpering man, curled tightly against the dumpster, shoving himself tightly into the corner.

“Hanzo-”

“I can _handle_ it.” Hanzo snapped back.

“You can perhaps handle these small no names, keep them from growing, we both know that. But you can't be everywhere at once.”

“There is always a single target-”

“-elite force with agents trained in this situation that can be mobilized all over the worl-”

“An illegal group of no consequence-”

“When has THAT started to bother you-?”

“Only to be caught up in the political-”

“Hanzo!” Genji's temper finally snapped at being interrupted repeatedly. The arguments were never ending. Didn't matter if it was about local gang or what they would eat that night. For three months since Genji had sought him out that first time he hadn't left Hanzo's side, and for three months he had to chase him down to keep him from up and disappearing all over again. The reunion wasn't as heartwarming as he had hoped. They fought endlessly.

Genji understood the time needed to return from the shock of the murdered returned from the dead, and the space to let it sink in. However, he did not know how far into the sucking mud Hanzo had truly slipped.

Since his abandonment of the clan some years ago Hanzo might as well have dropped off the face of the earth to keep well hidden and suffer alone in silence, but as the years crawled by he grew more reckless. Each one saw his return to the castle a reminder that reopened wounds time and time again, refusing to let them heal and instead fester into infection that poisoned more than just his blood, but his thoughts and permeated who he had become.

He became cruel and loathsome.

He longed for death but would not inflict wounds upon himself lest the act redeem him of the very thing he ran from. Then and now. So he threw himself against the worst, the horrifying, and gruesome in vain hope to meet his demise by the hand of some no name in a dirty alley. Left to rot and violated by rats.

But they all failed. Each time a new corpse hit the ground by his hand his chest swelled too tightly. Nobody was as grounded and disciplined as a Shimada. Pride threatened him even when he left the very thing he had striven to be. They were simply incapable, and Hanzo Shimada did not tolerate weakness.

Until the one time he was beaten, and refused the death he so desired. But even then, it was only at the hand of another Shimada.

“I do not want to argue.”

“Which is why you insist on doing it?” Genji sighed then snapped his head up as something caught his attention. He touched at the side of his face plate and turned away, speaking with the connection he always spoke to. Someone named Winston, Hanzo would occasionally overhear the name.

The archer crouched by the pistol, peering down at it. He settled the weight into his palm, sliding callused fingers over the grip. The serial number was scratched off the barrel but not the grip, so the alteration was consistent. He pulled the magazine and used his thumb to slip a bullet free. It was thin, too thin to be a .45 but it fired just the same. He handed it up to Genji who took it and snapped several more thermal photos.

“The more we find the further the solution seems to get.” Genji spoke, flicking the bullet into the air several times.

Hanzo agreed silently, turning his gaze back to the faceless man, gasping and shivering under the torrential downpour.

“Whatever is being hidden is succeeding on a grand scale.”

The gangster briefly locked his good eye on Hanzo before his body convulsed into several violent coughs.

“We can only tack this as another mark on the map. Perhaps Athena can find something we overlooked.” Genji turned away to talk with Winston more, or perhaps this 'Athena' he seemed to talk about despite the fact that 'she' was merely an AI.

Hanzo continued to watch the man struggle, holding what remained of his face in trembling hands. The magazine easily slid back into place.

“Qing.” The man rasped out, the blood was too much, spilling over his hands that fell uselessly to his lap and stained half his shirt already. Hanzo leveled the barrel between the man's eyes, only one registering the sight. “Rao ming.”

He was feeling merciful.

Genji's detailing was cut off by a single shot echoing in the cramped alley. The gangster slumped, still now and Hanzo stood, tossing the gun to Genji as he passed.

 

* * *

 

Between the two of them they had gathered fifteen rifles, nine shotguns, and several dozen types of handguns. They were all spread out along the length of a conference table, only half illuminated by the one remaining naked bulb.

After some time Genji had managed to talk Hanzo into using the abandoned watchpoint just south of Seoul as their safe house while in South Korea. It took some convincing for Genji to get anything out of his brother. There relationship, if it could be called that, was strained at best and completely depleted at worst.

However, Genji was determined and willing to stick it out, to run the course without distraction. Until, at least, some semblance of understanding could settle between them once again. However, the healing process hadn't even started to begin. Everytime Genji moved forward Hanzo stepped back. Their dance was one of avoidance and one that Hanzo had come to master with a subtle grace.

Instead Hanzo had dove head first into several contracts, using the work as a flimsy excuse to face him. From confronting the past. Handling his guilt was easier when Genji was dead. Several drinks, a scuffle behind a bar, the welcoming chilled hands of unconsciousness. Now, with the prospect of redemption within reach, Hanzo completely locked up and refused to budge.

One contract turned into two, two into three, and soon enough he was desperately grasping for anything and everything. Even collections. At least he allowed Genji to join this time.

Genji let out a soft sigh, the filter reverberating, cracking the softness. Hanzo paced from one side of the table to the other, gaze lowered to the contents with an intensity as if the glare alone could make the intimate objects speak. He paused in the middle of his pace, leaning over the table on his fists.

“What happened with your contact? I thought he had a breakthrough, something about patterns.” Genji asked.

“Dead. Half his body was found in the Pacific. I don't know about the other half.” Hanzo murmured without looking up.

Genji winced. “Do you think they caught up with him?”

Hanzo straightened up and scrubbed his fingers through his trimmed beard. He didn't know so he wouldn't answer.

His list of informants was dwindling at an alarming rate making it clear the noose was starting to tighten. Whether it was his fault at being careless or theirs, he couldn't say. What he did know was that the presence of his brother did prove to be quite the distraction. And that carelessness was on his part.

The distraction moved to half sit on the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest and cock his head at him. Hanzo stared down at a rifle.

“An Overwatch agent is close by, in Korea. He's scouting a recruit and figured he might be able to help us. He's proficient in firearms himself, and he's an old friend of mine.” Genji offered with a shrug.

There was Hanzo's scathing glare that he knew and loved. Despite the anger behind it, Genji was simply relieved he was even acknowledging him.

“I told you this is my contract. No actions are being taken by any government yet, I still have time.”

“This isn't about you, brother. Not about money or mercenary bribes. This,” Genji jerked his chin towards the table, “Is now a global concern. I cannot keep my mouth shut about it any longer. Winston knows already, but has agreed to keep Overwatch out. However, I cannot with my next report.”

Hanzo groaned and pushed off the table. “I thought Overwatch dealt specifically with omnic issues.”

“They concern themselves with any attacks on humanity world wide.”

“This is too small for them. They will find nothing here.”

“Everyday it is spreading. Already it is through eastern China, Taiwan, South Korea and now point to Japan. The recall had a limited turn out, all we need is two, perhaps one more.”

“Then WHY aren't you with them?” Hanzo's anger snuffed out as instantaneously as it had flared, finded himself face to face with the featureless mask that claimed to be his brother. He hated it, hated the constant reminder, how he couldn't see his face even more than the horrifying scars, as if he wasn't allowed. Didn't deserve to. Hanzo glanced aside.

Genji wanted to rub at his eyes, “You ask that everyday.”

“And everyday you give a bullshit answer.”

“I give the truth! You just don't believe me.”

“I would believe you if it made any SENSE!” Hanzo slammed his fists onto the table, causing the guns to shiver. Genji didn't move, his posture calm and resigned as before. Just as unshakable.

As if it was a reminder to himself, Hanzo straightened his back and squared his shoulders to be just as defiant. He wasn't fooling either of them. “I am done for the night. Do what you will.” He turned and walked out.

“They will arrive tomorrow!” Genji called after him. “Perhaps all we need is a fresh pair of eyes.” One step forward, two steps back. The dance continued. His own patience was starting to wane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ni cong na li de dao zhe ge? - Where did you get this?  
> *Qu nide. - Fuck you  
> *Quing - Please  
> * Rao ming - Have mercy/Spare me
> 
> Translated into Mandarin by the fantastic Trxcey. Thank you!


	3. Right Between the Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, bullshit translations.

Jesse groggily swam awake, aware of the thrum of a car engine, the near dull roar of local traffic, and the insistent babbling to his immediate left. Sometime during Hana's long explanation of the Zelda series he had simply nodded off. Cracking an eye open he frowned down at the wobbling to-go cup of coffee balanced on one thigh, his fingers loosely wrapped about the warmth. The drink threatened to splash as the hover taxi turned off the main road and swayed down a lone road spotted with the occasional overhanging lamp.

Since Overwatch's reform Jesse McCree had his fair share of run ins with many promising comrades, since the recall had gathered so few. Many were already moved on to new lives, for better or worse. Some refused to act illegally and flat out declined. With the threat of talon and whispers of a second omnic crisis Jesse personally rather be prepared and grouped than facing it with his little ol' self. Might just be like old times.

In doing so OW was relatively dependent on non-agents already in the fields. Lucky for them they seemed to catch on like an old flame and despite the PETRAS act several organizations worldwide voiced their approval of their return and even offered funds.

That was how he found himself beside a rather chatty Korean girl, smacking her gum and proceeded to insist on proving her worth to be invited within the team.

Jesse was sent to Seoul for observation only, Winston insisted. Watch the girl, enjoy the kimchi, give his report. That was it. But he had received a message from an old friend he hasn't seen in some years, asking for a visit. Hana had already requested to be put on leave before he could reply.

Genji had taken on his own assignment some months back that seemed to have him tied down, which is why he wasn't in Jesse's spot in the first place. _On the wrong side of the world._ If Jesse had felt out of place in London or Spain, he was completely out of his element in eastern Asia.

Portions were smaller than he was accustomed to, to start. Jesse wasn't a small guy, no Reinhart but he still could hold his own in height and weight. Even if Angela had instantly chided him about he could gain from smaller portioned meals at their reunion, it didn't stop him from grabbing an extra meal or two here and there.

It also didn't help that the two week mark for his visit had come and gone with no promise to return to base. Instead they were humming down the backwoods of South Korea, four weeks into his observation, with a trained MEKA pilot thrusting a datapad at his face.

“How sick is that??”

It was a fluttering image of Genji himself, low resolution, but the red eyes and the mid air kick was unmistakable. Jesse hardly spared it a glance. “I guess.”

“A real cyborg. Not much on his profile though. Doesn't even give a date of birth, just a date when he joined. Unless...” she gaped suddenly, the gum nearly falling from her tongue. “That is his birthday!”

Jesse snorted. “Hardly.”

“Then tell me.”

“I'm sure that's still classified information.” Jesse frowned, scratching at his beard. “Classified somewhere. Hell, just ask him yourself.”

Hana snerked and fell back into her seat, swiping through several pages until she came across a video. Neon red shot across the screen, probably some old training footage. “Kick ass.”

Jesse leaned over to squint down at the grainy feed. It was obviously from a stationary camera overhead. Several training dummies skidded by, another streak of red and then flash of steal as the sword was drawn, slicing easily through the soft synthetic flesh with ease.

“Ya know, I'm in there too.” He said, pointing to a figure blurred in the background. “Good damn shot if I might say so myself.” he boasted lightly, offering one of his more charming toothy grins.

Hana leaned away from him, her nose wrinkled. “You smell like ash. And you aren't a ninja.” she elbowed him sharply in the ribs to shove him back to his side. He oofed and rubbed at his side.

“Aw, c'mon. I've done some stunts in my day.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun.”

“It's a revolver.”

“It's a gun.” Hana sniffed, unimpressed. Quickly she swiped through several images then flashed Jesse one of himself, doused in far too much black. “That was you, twenty pounds ago.”

Jesse laughed, damn the girl could bite. “Little below the belt, don't you think?”

“Or in your case just over the belt.” She waggled her brows at him, smacking her gum noisily.

Jesse burst into more laughter, thumping her on the shoulder. “Just wait until you're nearing forty. See how well you turn out.”

She glowered at him, forty was such an age away for a teenager, boy Jesse knew it.

The taxi came to a halt and they climbed out, Hana chatting with the driver and paying while Jesse pulled the few bags from the trunk. The watchpoint before them loomed dark against the purple haze of lingering twilight. A single communication tower broke the smooth silhouette, the single winking red light the only sign that it was occupied at all.

“What's he like?” Hana caught up with Jesse, grabbing her own pink suitcase and tugged it over the gravel. “Did he really study with the Shambali? Can he really climb walls? I sill call bullshit on that, unless he's got some impressive treads on his feet.”

“Don't know about the Shimbali really, haven't talked to him in several years. I've seen the wall climbing first hand. Never did look at his feet though. Just kinda accepted it.”

Hana snorted. “Typical. I bet he just runs three steps and flips off. The boys in my squad could do that.”

Jesse smirked, “You haven't seen him in action.” The little videos Hana saw simply didn't do Genji justice. The man was amazingly agile and a sight to see all the same.

Approaching the unlit shadow of the single hanger the overhead door slid open with a sigh and a familiar figure cut a dark silhouette against the glaring interior light.

“Speak of the devil. Genji!” Jesse dropped a bag and waved a full armed at him. A blur of green slammed into the cowboy's chest, knocking the wind and the cigar from Jesse. He laughed wholeheartedly.

“Jesse McCree!” The cyborg laughed as well, hugging tightly and thumping him on the back with a fist. They parted, holding each other at arms length to look each other over. “You've gotten old. You're more beard now.” Genji grinned in his voice, tugging at Jesse's jaw.

Jesse snickered. “You're still naked as ever. On that full omnic look I see.”

Genji shrugged, “I change my casings still. But um, not doing purple again. Didn't have quite the same effect. Nobody is frightened of a cybog in lavender.”

Jesse threw his head back in laughter.

“Ahem.” Hana, not-so-subtley coughed as she tapped Genji's shoulder, smiling that sly grin with too much teeth as he turned to her.

“Name's Hana Song. I've heard so much about you, Genji.” She thrust her hand out to him and he took it, shaking firmly before she yanked him in closer, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “So. Wall climbing. Can you do it? Let me see your feet.”

The sudden lurch forward had Genji laughing nervously. “Ah, yes. I can. My feet?” He stared down at his own toes and wriggled them. “Sure, I suppose.” He kicked up a foot and Hana did her investigation as Genji used Jesse's shoulder to balance on. “The new recruit?”

Jesse nodded, having had his fill of fresh air and snapped open his zippo, touching the flame to the cigar he had been chewing on for the past hour. “Rough around the edges, but she's alright.”

“Just alright!?” Hana popped up from her examination to level Jesse with a scowl. “Four times Starcraft champion and best MEKA pilot in the eastern hemisphere. I think I'm qualified.”

“Done looking at my foot?”

“Yes.”

Dropping his leg Genji grabbed at one of the cases with ease and lead them inside. “At least you get a trial. Good chunk of us didn't have much of a choice.”

“I reckon our misfortune was the Blackwatch trial.” Jesse grunted, squinting as they stepped into the light. He eased as the door slid closed, keeping the night at bay.

At least the watchpoint wasn't a complete wreck, tables and chairs were shoved aside, outdated monitors sat over long counters collecting dust. It was older but still intact and could be revived easily enough. Genji made the mistake of mentioning something about a Fifa somethingorother and Hana launched into an all out lecture Jesse didn't have the brainpower to try and follow, so he excused himself and dropped the suitcases in the first available room with a bed.

Every watchpoint was the same, apparently. The layout was perhaps different but the regulations were certainly met. Same style bunk, same closet width, same desk, chair, gray linoleum. At least it felt like home anywhere in the world.

Finding the two again was simple enough, just follow the trail of neon lights and pink glitter, not to mention the serious tones over a soccer video game. They were lounging casually in what looked like a rec room, the couch cover having been yanked aside ad the two sprawled across it's length already easy within each others company.

Jesse interjected with a grunt. “Heard you were in China lately.” he looked to Genji, stepping into the room and shrugging off the serape, draping it behind the couch before leaning against the back on his elbows.

Genji nodded, “Recently, yes. The trail lead us here. Doing a bit of collecting, thought you might want to take a look. You'll find it interesting.”

“Us?” Hana asked, her legs tucked under herself, resting her chin in her palm.

“My brother and I. We've been following the lead for some time now.”

“Oh.” Hana hummed with little interest.

But Jesse froze, staring down at the crown of the metallic helm. Genji turned to peer up at him, pensive. He shook out of his gape to leer down at him. “Tell me you mean you found out you had another sibling and are getting along just swimmingly.”

“Jesse,” Genji accused, “I told you. I told everyone at the recall where I was going and what I was doing.”

Jesse shook his head and straightened up, “You serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“You found him.”

“Yes.”

“You didn't...try anything?”

“No.”

“And he hasn't tried anything?”

“Not since I revealed myself.”

Jesse pushed his hat back and ran fingers through his tousled hair, shaking his head. “No, no. This don't sit right with me.”

Genji had hopped up on his knees, leaning over the couch back, “We have been working together since then. Three months now.”

“That's not enough time.”

“What is enough time then?”

Jesse pressed his lips together in a line. “You can't trust him.” he glowered.

Genji shook his head, “That is not for you to decide.”

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Genji, the angry ass cyborg he's known for so many years, facing the one thing he had sought revenge for, now chatting happily about his own murderer with a serene voice. “Have you forgotten? All those years...”

“I haven't forgotten. I have merely forgiven.”

Sucking on the butt of his cigar Jesse tried to piece together when exactly _that_ had happened. Clearly he was missing something here. Synthetic fingers wrapped around Jesse's bare wrist and squeezed.

“I implore you, Jesse. Please don't be rude. He's been through enough.”

That got a loud bark of a laugh from him. “He's been through enough??” Jesse couldn't hide the curl of a lip as he sneered and his voice dropped to rake through the mud, “He hasn't met me yet.”

The grip on his wrist tightened. “I am glad you could come, Jesse.” Genji muttered tersely, “But do not make me regret inviting you.”

The silence grew thick, tension quivered in the air and the hair rose on the back of his neck, but it wasn't between him and Genji. Someone was here.

At some point Hana had stood, stock straight and alert. She seemed to be holding her breath, her bottom lip caught between teeth in a startling shy manner, pink creeping over her nose and across soft cheeks. Her gaze, suddenly open and starved, was locked within the doorway.

There he stood, head down but eyes up, fists clenched to his sides and feet spread. Coiled and ready to pounce. He wasn't very tall, but he didn't have to be, his presence itself commanded attention and begrudgingly; respect in one form or another. Pale features outlined starkly with thin black; jaw, eyes, lips, with manicured precision. The sharpest cheekbones McCree had ever seen framed a prominent nose and upheld narrowed eyes. No, sharp didn't explain what he saw. Cutting was better.

Regal as he was he wore a simple dark hoodie of all things, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal thick forearms that rippled the tighter he clenched his fists. One was swathed in an intricate tattoo, shimmering with fangs and storm clouds. Faded jeans tucked into the metallic boots at his knees. Long, thin, elegant boots.

Jesse's lungs started to burn and he realized he was also holding his breath too, pinned to the spot with the scathing glare as it peeled him apart, piece by piece. Release came when the gaze snapped to Genji as he stalked into the room and Jesse took the quick moment to pull himself back together.

“Karera wa darena no?” The baritone was just as dark as the man himself, his words snapping like bear traps.

Genji slid forward with the cautious care one would to keep a wolf from attacking. “This is the agent I spoke to you about. Jesse McCree. He can help us.” he stated slowly in English for Jesse's benefit.

Attention slid back to Jesse, narrowing as they scrutinized, but Jesse was prepared for it this time. He wasn't a stranger to patronizing looks himself and he shifted easily beneath it now, answering with his own brand of smug grin that quickly deflected heat.

“This is my brother.” Genji continued, his voice relaxed as he spoke to McCree.

“Pleasure is all yours.” McCree drawled in his thickest accent, which he was sure earned a frown from Genji. Maybe it sounded a bit too threatening. Well then, Jesse's grin stretched further. Oopsie.

Hanzo lifted his chin in defiance, squaring his shoulders like a cobra stretching his hood. Jesse was sure he could unhinge his jaw too and swallow prey whole. The tension sparked, filling the air with electricity and Jesse hyper focused on lips as they parted to speak.

That is until Hana stepped forward, either completely oblivious to the silent threats or determined to play peacekeeper. “And I'm Hana Song. Pleased to meet you Mr. Shimada.” she chirped brightly, but her voice was softer, not holding that glaring over confidence he could only associate with the little Miss Dv.A.

The change was so drastic Hanzo blinked down into her cheery face. Caught completely off guard he merely stared at her upturned face, causing her to shift beneath the weight, the pink spreading to her ears before she quickly bowed, hands clasped before her. Oh sure, now she was oozing polite mannerisms Jesse hadn't had the delight to know.

McCree and Genji exchanged glances, unsure what to make of this, but Jesse was mighty impressed. Whether she intended to or not Hana brought order into a situation rapidly spiraling out of hand. Even Hanzo's posture eased enough to regard her with casual curiosity.

“Jeoneun Shimada Hanzo-imnida. Mannaseo bangawoyo.” He replied cooly with the incline of his head.

McCree didn't have to guess what language he spoke as Hana just lit up like fucking Christmas. She burst into happy chatter that diffused the remainder of the tension with such excitement Hanzo nearly took a step back. However his replies, while short, were patient and even.

Genji sagged in relief, running a hand over his face mask. “Please, please. Just....don't kill each other.”

Jesse shook his head and tugged his hat off, turning his back on the scene completely. “I ain't promising nothing. Now, where's the showers? I need a cold one.”


	4. Hook, Line, and Snicker

Even the soap was small. Jesse frowned down at the tiny lump of lavender settled in the cup of his palm, already liquifying beneath the pounding of water. He'll use it up just scrubbing his armpits. At this point he was sure this was a personal affront, mocking how large he was. Someone going far out of their way to subtlety call him fat. It only fueled the question once more: why was he here?

New recruit. Meet the aspiring Hana Song, bring her within the ranks of the all new Overwatch to become a hero and all of it's glory. She's young enough to eat that up and then some.

The soap was gone when he finished and he stepped out quick, shaking himself off like a dog before reaching for a towel. She was qualified. He knew that just from reading her history. Military training even it wasn't backed by solid years of experience. More so than that she was the face of the MEKA program and OW could use the upbeat and competitive personality in areas outside the battlefronts. Desk jobs were just as important. Not that she needed to know that part.

And she had eyes for the elder Shimada. McCree nearly laughed aloud, throwing the towel over his head and tousled his hair. Hanzo was probably twice her age and colder than a witches snatch, but he was polite and apparently that's all it took. That and a shapely pair of legs. Nevermind the glare that could knock you flat on your ass.

Jesse wiped down the steamed mirror, pausing to glance over himself. He liked to think he was approaching middle age rather well. Barrel chested, thick arms, chest hair that could rival shag carpeting. Still a full head of hair, thanks to his mother, bless her soul. He ran a hand through the sopping strands and finger gunned at himself. Softness was starting to settle around his middle, reminding him his metabolism wasn't what it used to be, but nothing a few months of hard cardio couldn't take care of. If he cared at all to do it. All around tall, dark, and rugged. Might not be wooing teenagers anytime soon, but he didn't exactly plan to either.

He dressed quickly, pausing at his hip holster for a moment before strapping it on. Hanzo wasn't armed from what he could see, but knowing Genji jesse would assume that he wasn't any less dangerous because of it. Merely a precaution he would tell Genji if he had to.

Stepping into the hall he found a room makeshift to food storage, poking through what he hoped was food boxes and several coolers. Rice, some kind of protein bars (he couldn't read the wrappings) and rations. He snatched at a bar instead. Maybe since it was pink it would be some kind of berry flavored something. Coupled with what looked like a plain bottle of water he resumed his trek down the hall to the only lit room in the place.

The Japanese conversation dwindled the closer he got falling completely silent as he stepped into the room, chewing on the protein bar. He made a face down at the surprisingly green flecked bar. It tasted nothing like berries.

“This tastes like shit.” he muttered at no one in particular, crinkling the wrapping back over the bar and tossing it aside. The brothers Shimada were reclining against a low conference table covered in an impressive armory. He whistled, looking over the spread. “Starting your own pawnshop?”

Genji unfolded his arms and tapped a shotgun by his hip. “This is the collection I messaged you about. These are what we collected so far.” He motioned toward the far end of the table. “Those are from Korea alone. The rest is from Taiwan and southern China.”

Jesse picks up a pistol and flipped it over, thumbing the slide. The serial number was scratched out, which was typical enough, but as he picked it apart there was no physical alterations that he could find. “Standard issue. Stolen. But what of it?”

“That's the mystery.” Genji pushed off the table and pulled over a small box of magazines, riffling through them. Each one was marked with a bright sticker to match their corresponding firearm.

“Mystery?” McCree craned his neck to better see.

“Genji pulled a purple stickied one and handed it to Jesse. “This goes with it. Check the bullets.

Jesse did, popping one free and peered down at it. Once again, standard brass casing. It just looked so...typical. He shook his head, “I don't get it-wait. This is a 9mm.” He looked at the pistol. “This is a 45 colt.”

Genji nodded excitedly.

“You grabbed the wrong one.”

“Nope.”

“Now, we all make mistakes once in awhi-”

“I did not. We took them apart and that's what was in there. What was in all of them. They work too, unless they somehow changed weapons in the middle of shooting at us.”

“Could be.”

“Doubtful.”

McCree leveled a look onto Genji. Pranks had been common between the two of them, but even this seemed like he was reaching.

“Try it.” That wasn't Genji. McCree almost forgot Hanzo was even in the room, quiet as the bastard was.

“Well now,” Jesse straightened up and raised his brows, meeting the stare head on. “You do speak English.”

“Among others. Try it out back.” Even with the smoother glide of syllables his accent was clipped, indicating high education but little practice.

“Whoa! You guys rob an armory?” Hana gaped at the spread. Her hair was damp from her own shower and dressed in an oversized shirt and shorts. She had snagged up McCree's discarded protein bar and nibbled on it.

“We have spent several weeks following the distribution of this particular set. Not much is known about them, but the likes are spreading quickly.” Genji explained in a a nutshell, subtlety placing himself between Hanzo and McCree so they wouldn't melt beneath each others glares.

Hana hopped up on the table and sat, snatching a rifle and peered down the scope. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and apparently they're equipped with wrong sized ammo telling me that's how they've been shooting. Assholes just want me to blow my good hand off.”

“As amusing as that would be,” Hanzo stated evenly, expression schooled to slight annoyance, “It will not.”

“Ooohh...” Hana nodded thoughtfully, though it was clear she hadn't heard a single word. Once again attention locked onto the elder brother and she was worlds away, flicking the stock release on the rifle idly.

Hanzo pointedly studied the white washed wall to his immediate left.

“Guys! I'll do it. Kuso.” Genji snatched the gun and magazine from Jesse's hand and pushed out the door. “You have to see it though, Jesse.” he spun around the walk backwards, “It's cool as hell.”

 

* * *

 

The shooting range was small. Little more than a walled in courtyard, choked with weeds and crumbling with disuse. It was long but narrow, pits riddled the grass at various distances to prop up dummies. The back wall was pock marked to deformity, the steel plating long since fallen and perhaps stolen completely. Weeds overran the grass now, crunching beneath heavy boots and brushing synthetic calves. Flood lights sputtered a moment before washing most of the color from the already grayed exterior.

“I still don't see how the change in size is important, even if it does work. Hole in the head is still a hole in the head.” Jesse paused where racks used to hang, now yanked from the concrete wall and left to rust in an overgrown corner.

“I have a theory.” Genji started, striding lightly past the gathered group then turned on a toe to face them. “Stealth.” Sliding in the magazine he flicked the safety. “If you find a shotgun slug who would search for an uzi?” He turned and aimed at the sad excuse for a wall. “Or a 45 colt?” The shot echoed in the thin yard, but Jesse nearly staggered at the sight than the sound.

As soon as it impacted there was a burst of neon blue, spreading in what could only be described as flower petals, bloomed rolling outwards in a surge. Static shot through the cloud, jolting toward the edges as the entire thing spread to nearly three feet across before the illusion sputtered out like a dying firework leaving only the fresh hole and the crumpled casing.

“The fuck was that?!”

“I told you it was cool.” The smirk in Genji's voice was apparent.

“It looked like an EMP. Like a fancy one.” Jesse jogged over to the concrete pocked wall to better inspect the damage. “What does it do?” he called back over his shoulder.

Genji shrugged. “Besides look pretty? No idea.”

There was no residue, no burnt patches, even the shape of the hole was normal. Jesse scratched at his beard and crouched to peer at the overgrown grass. The strange blue 'flower' hadn't reached the grass blades, but at closer inspection to the blades they seemed tinged along the edges, a faint shimmer peeling at the organic material before it snuffed out completely.

He picked one of the blades of grass and twirled it between his fingertips. “What does it do when someone is shot with one of these?”

“I don't know that either, being difficult to actually test out. I have not shot anyone.” Genji paused then tacked on, “For awhile at least.”

“There is no reaction.” Hanzo spoke up.

Jesse had wandered back, blade of grass pinched in his fingers. It did not surprise him that Hanzo would be the one to know what happens. “Where you shoot 'em?”

“In the head.”

Jesse frowned, “And nothing?”

Hanzo shook his head, squinting at what the cowboy held. Rejoining them Jesse held it up to the archer. The edges of the grass was faded now, the singe instead of a burnt brownish color pulsed a faint blue. “Have you ever taken apart the bullets?”

“Nah, he won't--” Genji started, interrupted by Hanzo's snappy retort.

“Neither of us are proficient in engineering. I will not have us put in that kind of danger.”

Jesse nodded, he could understand that. “Torb can. Have you contacted him?”

“He was out in the field last I tried.” Genji said, “I've sent pictures and x-rays but there's only so much he can decipher from them.”

Hanzo reached out as if to take the offered blade of grass but paused as the blue faded completely. He withdrew his hand and Jesse his, dropping the grass to the ground. He didn't much like it near him.

“Wait! Wait! Ok, okokok.” Hana burst into the small circle, squeezing her way between the brothers. “I thought that looked kinda familiar. I haven't seen it in person, but I remember a video shown to our troop.” She held up her phone, starting a small video.

It was shaky, a home movie shot on someone's phone while they ran. The man was whispering in Korean, running down a small residential street. Several pops were heard off camera and he shouted before the shaking intensified as he sped up. It was a brief moment as he rounded a corner, half of the billowing blue snapped off screen, but it was there, the very same.

“We were shown a week ago about this, but other than that video not much else was spoken of. Right before I left we were told to report anything suspicious.”

“Not as underground as I had thought.” Genji considered.

“Does the Korean army have the funds to look into this?” Jesse asked.

Hana nodded, “But as far as I know they haven't found anything. Not like what you two have found.” She beamed, grabbing each brother by the waist and yanked them both into a fierce hug. Genji bubbled with laughter and casually dropped an arm around her shoulders, returning the side hug.

Hanzo looked down right uncomfortable. Big bad mob boss could probably handle ten armed men with nothing but a pair of scissors and dental floss, but couldn't handle the affections of a peppy teenage girl. Jesse snorted into laughter, drawing confused glances and one seething glare that had him sputtering into a cough instead, thumping at his chest.

“That would just be here though.” Hana continued, “If they found more in other countries they wouldn't reach that far.”

“China, Hong Kong, Taiwan.” Genji listed.

“What about Japan?” Jesse asked curiously.

“We think it had recently crossed the sea.” Genji nodded.

“That will be the next place I look.” Hanzo interjected, peeling away Hana's lanky arm before more of her fingers could slip beneath his shirt, only to have it snap right back around his waist.

“You mean 'we'.” Genji frowned.

“No. I do not.” Hanzo stated firmly.

“Don't you dare dismiss me like that. We are a _team_.”

“Anata no chumu wa anata o atsumeru tame no koko ni imasu.”

“Sore wa kono sakuhin n shukatade wa arimasen.” Genji almost growled.

“Hana-ya.” Hana beamed up at Hanzo, eyes wide with hope. “Nal pul-eo jwo.” Her face fell along with her arm and Hanzo stepped free. “I have accepted this contract and I intend to finish it.”

At least she was still half wrapped around Genji's side, who was calling after him. “The contract is _boring_ and you know it! Let the governments handle it. C'mon, Anija!”

But Hanzo was already back inside, leaving the trio in the flood lights. They stared a moment longer before Jesse sniffed and nudged Genji with an elbow. “Just let him be. He'll be fine. Creepy as the shit looks I'm sure he can handle himself.”

Genji deflated, “That's not my concern. I just..it's taken so long to get this far. I found him again, I can't just leave.”

“Sure ya can, partner. You just let him do his little gun show and you can come with me and give a little evaluation on the girl here.” Jesse shot, to what he understood, was his most charming grin.

Tension thickened so quickly it slapped the grin right off Jesse's face. He didn't realize Genji was glaring until the effect hit him head on. While completely hidden it gave the same shivering effect Hanzo's own did. Jesse couldn't see it at all, but it was there in the tense shoulders and how ice fingers ghosted down Jesse's spine.

Hana helped with her own glare. “You're a dick.”

Jesse gaped, “Me!? How am _I_ the dick here? _Clearly_ he wants to be alone.”

“They're brothers!”

Jesse rounded on Hana, jabbing a finger at her nose. “You don't know what you're saying. You have no idea what he's done.”

“That's enough!” Genji snapped with a whirl of static and grabbed Jesse's collar, yanking him down to eye level. “Things have _changed_ , Jesse McCree.” The ninja's voice was low but not soft, the static crackling as if he was hissing through teeth. “I have worked too hard for my peace of mind and will not stop until he feels redeemed. You will do well to understand and not come between us.” His chest heaved, trying to calm the flood of anger, “He is still my brother.”

Jesse met the neon glow with his own glare, however he couldn't seem to settle on any specific point. “People change.” he stated gruffly, but carefully.

“Yes, they do.” Genji agreed.

Even if Genji was right in his own affair, how he actually did forgive and meet peace, he couldn't speak for Hanzo. And that snake in the grass already had betrayed once already.

The silence quivered until Jesse gave in with a faint nod, straightening to his full height when his collar was released. He pawed his hat, “Yer asking for the impossible.”

“All I ask for is that you try.”

Jesse patted down for his cigars and quickly shoved one between his teeth, biting hard. The burst of tobacco settling his heated blood. “Alright, partner. Alright. Just know I'm doing it for you.”

Genji seemed to relax and the smile returned to his voice. “That's fine. I'm sorry we only have this visit. I had thought your knowledge would give us some insight.”

“If it was any alteration on the firearms themselves I could give you all I know.”

“Perhaps you can take a few bullets back to Gilbraltor when you return.” Genji mused.

“You're not coming with us?” Jesse asked genuinely this time.

“You heard him. We're following the trail to Japan now.”

Suddenly Hana pipped up from her silence. “We can go too.”

They both frowned down at her.

“What? Why not? Four heads are better than two.”

“Oh no. Absolutely not.” Jesse sighed.

“The plan was to escort me through my duties to offer an evaluation of how well I will accommodate Overwatch as a team member.” She sounded off, reiterating the exact speech given to her. “You can watch me run through drills for weeks more. Ooooorrrrr....” she grinned wickedly, “....you can see me in some real action.”

Genji cocked his head, considering. “She has a point.”

“Why are you taking her side?” Jesse balked.

Genji shrugged, “Could be fun.”

“She's just a kid!”

“Ex- _cuse_ me, I am nineteen, thank you very much.”

“My first hit was fifteen, When did you join Deadlock again?” Genji sounded just a little too smug.

Jesse glowered, folding his arms defiantly. “No. I'm not goi-”

“You have to follow me anywhere I go, and I have several sponsors, not to mention friends, in Japan I would _very_ much like to visit.” Hana folded her arms too, mocking Jesse's manner, grinning toothily up at Genji who chuckled his approval.

“But-”

“You still have thirteen days as my escort.” She cooed, casually picked at her nail polish.

“Alright! Alright fine.” Jesse threw up his hands in defeat. “Shit! You two are the fucking worst.” Jesse glared at them both, but there was no real heat behind it. “Have fun trying to convince the resident princess.” He waved as he stalked passed them, hands shoved hard into his pockets and grumbling.

They bumped forearms with an impish grin.


	5. QQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to update and doing so with a tiny chapter. This one, for as short as it was, was incredibly INCREDIBLY difficult to figure out. Next chapter will be better.

Convincing Hanzo was slightly more difficult than it was for McCree. Hanzo hardly wanted his own brother around, despite the little fact that Genji kept insisting he did want to redeem himself. Jesse wasn't buying it for a hot second. The entire deal gave Jesse a headache, but each time he tried to speak he would be instantly shut down. He didn't _want_ to take the elder Shimada's side, so he took the huffs of 'shut ups' with a sigh and a shrug.

One day passed and well into the next before Genji's insistent pleading and Hana's eyelash batting had Hanzo rubbing his eyes and growling out his approval.

In truth Hana's presence was pretty handy in traveling. She didn't have to hide her face, and even in showing herself she drew all the attention away from the rest of them. Jesse stood out on his own as a tourist, but having ran this bit hundreds of times before he played compliant and obedient to checks and double checks before allowed to board the commercial flight.

The collection of guns was boxed and shipped to Gilbraltor for when Torbjorn returned to take a look at. Their own weapons, including Hana's tiny pistol, was disassembled and checked anyway. She couldn't bring her MEKA but Hana insisted she was just as useful without it as she was in it, and that it would be pointless anyway with information hunting.

Once on board, they settled separately for the two hour flight. Hana managed to show off her own charm and switched seats with a passenger to sit beside Genji and happily chat. Jesse was behind them both, and Hanzo was across the aisle several rows back. His arms were crossed, head down and out like a light the moment the airbus left the ground. Clearly he found no danger among civilians as they sailed through the air.

“Will you now tell me what happened?” Hana leaned over to whisper to Genji. They had to speak in English, neither knowing the others language, which put Jesse in the awkward position of unintentionally eavesdropping. He grabbed for the flight magazine to try and ignore it, but the pictures were strange and the writing was all in Korean.

Genji didn't answer right away. “Why do you wish to know?” he asked instead.

“If I'm to join Overwatch I would like to know about my comrades.” she answered eloquently.

Another silence stretched between them before Genji gained the courage. “Hanzo and I...our family was renown.”

“You mean Yakuza?”

He puffed a laugh. “Not quite, older than that. They dabbled in political affairs more than drug wars or firearms, under the thinly veiled guise of bodyguards, assassins, even samurai when they were around. They are very deeply rooted in tradition.” Genji shifted uneasily. “I wasn't. I guess I was always a bit rebellious. They always accused my mother of it, but it was my father that underhandedly allowed my outgoings.” Silence fell again and Hana ordered some drinks from the passing flight attendant.

“What's wrong with tradition? We're all fairly traditional one way or another.” She shrugged.

Genji shook his head. “When you're born into something that, like royalty, you have no choice in what you become. There is no test to take on what you wanted to be when you grow up. At fifteen we took a life. At twenty we gained the mark of the Shimada. At twenty-five we get married. That is what we did and you bowed and thanked them for your wonderful life.” he laughed dryly.

He leaned closer on the armrest as he dropped his voice further. “ Friends, lovers, work, things outside the clan-- I didn't realize at the time but I know now that I wanted nothing to do with the clan and it's workings. I already had the addicting taste of freedom.”

Hana frowned at him, “Hanzo didn't?”

“He did. Well, I should say, he had a choice. He had a choice he wasn't allowed to make. As powerful as our father was the Elders had the last word.”

“But they let you slide?”

Genji laced his fingers over his lap. “They didn't care about me. I was only the second son.”

The drinks came and Hana sipped at hers. “So did they cast you out?”

“When you are locked into our family there is only one way out. So, in a way, yes, I was cast out. They um, since our Father died it fell on Hanzo's shoulders to do so. We fought. First with words then with swords. He tried so hard to change my mind. I was so cock sure I could convince him otherwise. Sure he wouldn't...that he couldn't. But the heir of the clan is nothing less than dutiful. Our final fight trashed half the castle.” Genji sighed, staring down at the drink he couldn't use. “I lost. I nearly died. For years they thought I was. But I was saved and Dr. Zeigler put me together and this is how I am now.”

Hana stared wide eyed at him, clearly not expecting that turn of events, even if it was delivered softly. “He almost killed you? For some clan elders?”

“I no longer dwell on the past. I am a changed man now, and I am grateful for this second chance.” Genji replied serenely.

Hana turned in her seat to gaze down the aisle where Hanzo was slumbering. Even in sleep the harsh lines remained creased between his brows and the corners of his mouth. “Does he …?”

“Regret it?” Genji finished for her. “I believe so. Shortly after he left it all. The clan, his family, everything.”

She sighed and leaned back, sipping thoughtfully at her Sprite. Jesse kept his mouth shut, but even now he couldn't find it in himself to feel pity for the man. He fucked up, he should pay for his transgressions. End of story. Whatever conclusion Hana came to, however, he wouldn't know.

“You know, I was supposed to follow my mother and become a nurse. Same as my grandmother and her mother. But when I won my first tournament they couldn't ignore my talent. Being a professional Starcraft player is a position held relatively high. My parents couldn't deny me, and they were always proud and supportive. But my grandmother.” She sighed. “She smiled and praised as well but I could always feel the disappointment. What's a professional game player to a nurse?” Hana smiled sadly, “I get it. I mean, it's nothing compared to both your story, but...” she shrugged.

Genji gazed at her as she fiddled with the straw, lost in her own memories. “But now you will be saving people as well.”

She turned to him and smiled brightly. “Yes, YES! Yes. I...I didn't think of it like that.” she laughed, seeming relieved. “I wonder if she would have been proud of me now.”

“I'm sure she is.” Genji offered.

Hana was quick to recover, eyeing the cyborg. “So how much of you are truly replaced? Can't be all of you.”

Genji shrugged. “I have had lots of things replaced, most of it. I still have my head for the most part, my chest and this arm.” He flexed his left arm.

“It's hot.” she smirked devilishly.

That had Genji laughing heartily, “I'll be sure to tell Angela you think so.”

They lapsed back into another silence, but this one felt comfortable, like old friends just enjoying the presence of the other.

“Do you regret doing the stuff you did?” Hana asked carefully.

Genji cocked his head in thought. “No. And I would do it all again if it meant ending up right here right now.”

She grinned up at him.


	6. Unrequited Club

“This was a bad idea.” Jesse shifted his weight to the opposite foot, kicking the other out and toeing at a crack in the sidewalk. Three stories above him, perched on the roof, Hanzo grunted his agreement, but offered little insight.. Jesse tapped his earpiece, wishing the static would subside, but knew it was from the inscessant noise within the club both Hana and Genji were currently within.

The moment they had touched down at Sendai International Hanzo was insistent they remained out of sight and move quickly. He also kept his hood up and asked Hana to rent a car under her name. He drove, however, knowing enough of the streets and the back routes to one of the safehouses he had claimed. The brothers argued quietly together along the way, voices stern, but low over something neither Hana nor Jesse could pretend to comprehend. When pressed for information later that night Genji had only rolled a shoulder and said, “You're not the only one with a bounty.”

They were efficient to sniff out several points of interest where they could narrow down their hunt. Behind a seedy club didn't surprise Jesse in the least, though clubs usually held drugs trades. Weapons happened in secluded areas where large shipments could change hands. But a lead was a lead and he wasn't running this shindig so Jesse humored the lot and went along with little complaint.

Flicking through his phone Jesse gave a sigh. “It's been three hours.”

“They are fine.”

“That ain't what I mean.”

“Genji cannot consume alcohol.”

“I know that.” Jesse lied, having completely forgotten that fact. “Hana still could though.”

“She will not.”

“And what makes you so sure, eh?”

“She has something to prove. And she has been invaluable so far.” Hanzo certainly had a point there. Even if she wasn't applying for a post in Overwatch Jesse wouldn't doubt that she'd want to show off a little.

Jesse tipped his hat in greeting to a lovely older couple strolling down the smaller street he was casually loitering on. The woman seemed delighted and waved her own worbled greeting at him, which he swore he heard the accented word of 'cowboy' in there. Her husband muttered something, but didn't look quite as amused. One thing Jesse couldn't complain about the locals was their appreciation of a cowboy.

The static sharpened a moment then died almost completely as Genji spoke. The com locking onto his voice and canceling out the background noise. “We split. She's headed out with three prospects. South side.”

“Rodger dodger!” Jesse sing songed, kicking off the wall and dropping his cigar to stomp out with a restless vigor. “About time.”

“Stop.” Hanzo barked.

Jesse froze, alert, tense as he waited to receive further orders or at least a complimentary warning, but only silence followed. Slowly he lowered his foot and gave a fleeting scan of the area. “Something on your mind, Shimada?”

“Pancakes-”

“Do not-” both brothers spoke simultaneously followed immediately by Hanzo's angry, rapid Japanese that had Genji practically whining at being chided.

Jesse chortled and resumed his moseying to the south exit. “You two are a hoot.”

“Halt!” Hanzo.

“What the fuck, Shimada!” Jesse whirled around, trying to spot trouble, but there was nothing but the spattering of pedestrians and the occasional car.

“Stay, you will be noticed.”

Jesse growled, “Had me thinking I was bein' followed. Don't worry a man. Besides, bein' noticed is usually the idea.”

“Aw Jesse. Let Hana have her fun. Should have seen her with the bartender. Practically had him squirming. Girl's a firecracker.” Genji joined in.

Jesse growned and fell back against the brick to continue doing _nothing_ , this time with a scowl. “You're right, Genji.”

“Hmm?”

“This contract is boring as balls.”

“We have done worse for less.”

“I'm growing old here.”

No reply came, just the faint hum of an open connection. Another few minutes rolled by. From where he stood Jesse could only see a few feet down the alley running along the south side of the club building.

A commotion started. From this distance Jesse couldn't hear, but the crowd closest to the alley started to shift and heads swiveled around to look in that direction. Jesse stalked forward, Peacekeeper settled easily against his lower back, tucked in his belt under his shirt. He could have it out and firing in two swift movements if needed. The crowd rippled as they moved away, but nobody seemed alarmed. Perhaps just a typical scuffle in the back.

Increasing his pace to a jog he pressed through the crowd that was pulling away from the mouth of the alley, just as a flash of pink fluttered and Hana stepped out, grinning like a jackal and twirling a magnum on her finger. “Guess what I found.”

Jesse skid to a stop and pulled her back into the alley to keep the crowd from noticing. She turned her grin to him, tossing him the gun. “Guess my work here is done.” She announced smugly, brushing off her hands.

He frowned down at the magnum and popped out the magazine, sure enough, wrong caliber bullets for the model. “Well. I'll be.”

“Gonna need some clean up though.” She thumbed over her shoulder down the alley. Jesse squinted past her. A single bulb whined, casting the alley in harsh relief. Among the piles of trash and leaking drains he counted three slumped forms.

He arched a scruffy brow, “You did that?”

Hana nodded eagerly, “Sure did. Me.” She thumbed at herself then over her shoulder to the roof of the adjacent building, “Myself, and I.” Both Genji and Hanzo sat shoulder to shoulder, legs dangling over the edge, Genji's kicking playfully. They each raised a hand to him in greeting when he looked up.

McCree tucked the magnum next to Peacekeeper and flipped them off. “You're both assholes for making me wait on the street.”

Genji laughed and launched himself off the ledge, landing gracefully but slammed purposefully into the cowboy anyway, hard enough to knock off his hat. Jesse fumbled with the hat and yanked it down on his head, jabbing a finger at Genji, “You make me stand across the street and court old ladies.”

“You were always good at flirting with older women.” Genji mused, wandering down to the first fallen figure.

“Hey, HEY! You leave Amari out of this!”

“You're a good lookout, Mr. McCree.” Hana chimed in.

“That's Agent Mr. McCree to you.” Jesse sniffed, pushing his hat further back on his head just to see Hana scoff and roll her eyes  
.  
“You are too loud.” Hanzo's descent was less flashy, scaling down the side and dropping the last ten feet like a drop of oil; smooth and silent, without a ripple.

Gone was the hoodie, tied around Hanzo's trim waist. A thermal shirt hugged his form, dark but not quite black, all the way down to his wrists. His right hand had some odd half glove clasping his first two digits. Hana stiffened at Jesse's side, quickly smoothing out her skirt.

By the time Hanzo straightened Jesse was scowling at him. “Oh I shut up real nice and tight, princess, so don't go hanging that on me.” Jesse leered right back at him.

Hanzo paused at that, just before passing by, his side gaze narrowing in annoyance. Jesse smirked, assuming the pet name thew him for a loop. Instead Hanzo jerked his chin to indicate McCree's hidden weapon tucked into his belt. “Your weapon. It is too loud.”

“I'm not just my gun, honeycakes. Not when I got these up my sleeves.” Jesse slammed a fist into his robotic palm, the gesture making his arms flex beneath the thick flannel. Shame his biceps were covered, but at least his corded forearms were exposed, which he was subtly proud of.

The gaze did lower with a flick over the offered limbs before flashing him a withering look, “Your arms are too loud.” and moved on, kicking over one of the slumped figures, clearly not interested in anything else Jesse had to say.

McCree huffed and folded his arms over his chest, trying to not laugh, to instead be offended, but the best he could do was a pursed lip glare at the elder Shimada's back. Something was strapped across it. Several somethings. One had feather plumes cluttered in it. It was a quiver and that was a fucking bow of all things. A bow. What century was this? The weapon was confirmed used when the archer grasped a shaft protruding from a garbage bag and yanked it free.

Having finished her own visual appraisal of Hanzo's back Hana spoke up, tearing Jesse's attention down to the girl bouncing on the balls of her feet. “So am I in?”

“Actually, this is where you debrief. Explain what you did and how you did it. Especially since I _wasn't_ there to observe.” Jesse added in pointedly.

She sighed but conceded, understanding protocol. “The bartenders are paid off. They wouldn't say a word. So the club is owned or at least part of some circle. They did, however, indicate several people I could speak to, but no go. They only had E and Omnic Love.” At Jesse's confusion she clarified. “It's like LSD. Anyway, there's no connection to the facility itself so I had to peck and search the old fashioned way. Found several packing but they either didn't know what they had or they did and kept their mouths shut. So I lead them out here to be 'handled'.” She air quoted with a self satisfying grin.

Jesse raised a brow. “You know a lot of these things.”

“I like mafia movies.” Hana said casually.

One of the crumpled forms groaned and rolled over, seemed to find a comfortable spot and fell silent again.

Jesse scrubbed at his beard. “Not too shabby. Wish I could see it through, without you having to rely on others to uh, finish it.”

She folded her arms defiantly. “I was on a time limit.”

“What, really?”

“ _Someone_ kept _whining_ about being _bored_.”

Jesse sniffed, “I was making conversation.” He said as he wandered down the alley to join the others in their search for whatever they were looking for.

“Were not.”

“Were too.”

“Hey.” Hana stopped him with a small but firm hand on his arm, pulling in close to whisper up at him. “Did he say anything? About me?” This time she lit up with the kind of wide eyed hope that only lived within the inexperienced youth.

Jesse's chest seized for a moment before he realized he didn't actually want to so shatter her youthful innocence. So he played it off and offered a puzzled look instead, but couldn't quite hide his grin. “Who?”

“You know who!” she hissed, nails biting into the flesh of his arm.

“Hey, easy there. Only got one left. Yeah, yeah he did.” Jesse paused, greatly amused as he watched excitement flit across her features, swiftly turning to curiosity, a moment of hesitant fear, before anger set in as she realized he wasn't continuing unbidden.

“Well!?”

“Said you were invaluable.” he let her have that. After all, she deserved it. She did better than he had expected and he didn't mind the pleasant surprise of finding out.

Hana nearly glowed, of course, eyes twinkling. Suddenly, as if catching herself her features darkened and she smoothed at her hair, putting on airs of a more matured woman. A woman trying to be graceful and seductive instead of cute.

Jesse hurried away to just kind of leave her to her thing. He bumped shoulders with Genji, joining him over one form, sitting slouched against a half rotten dumpster. The man's left foot was twisted backwards. “Find anything?”

The cyborg hummed thoughtfully, tapped at his visor before flicking back through his phone. “This one's clean. Twenty-six. No arrests. Works at a pet cafe.”

“....a cafe for pets?”

“Nah, it's like a cafe _with_ pets.”

“Is that sanitary?”

Genji shrugged and turned as Hanzo called for him. He tossed the phone to Jesse then hopped over to where the elder squatted by the last hunched form. Jesse followed closely at his heels.

Hanzo sat on his haunches contemplating, elbow perched on a knee as he slowly dragged a callused thumb pad across his beard in thought. The angle threw a blackened shadow over the prone form, looking very much like a hawk hunched over his fresh kill. Genji's and McCree's shadows joined his and he leaned forward at their presence, yanking the man's shirt up revealing his torso.

He was thin, his ribs held together by the taunt stretch of pale skin. Some kind of swirled figure was stamped over the ridges, simple and done with black ink. A circle with what looked like a rise of a single mountain within. Jesse couldn't place it, sure it was some kind of Japanese letter or word in itself. Genji remained silent, but Jesse saw his back straighten.

Hanzo stood, pulling his bow and quiver over his head to slide back into the bulky hoodie. “We must leave.”

 

* * *

 

It was a bold faced lie to be told cities never sleep. Lights remained lit, but the musty yellow from lone street lamps or the faded welcoming signs above small shops forgotten to be turned off for the night did little in alleviate the darkness that permeated the outer reaches of Sendai. It wasn't the darkness or the threat of blackness being kept at bay by city taxes; it was the emptiness of the usually bustling streets, vacated of bodies save for the lone vehicle rumbling through the maze. After the bars had their last call and before dawn blossomed the Earth was truly quiet.

Hanzo hadn't slept during this time of night for nearly a decade. He sat at the small table within the kitchenette, feet propped up and ankles crossed on the seat opposite. A thin data pad laid before him, the low dialogue of a sitcom played idly, the volume rising each time the crowd erupted into applause.

It was not fear or paranoia that kept the elder brother awake at such times, though he would give the excuse easily enough. It was the true silence, the sheer nothingness. The time when the world held itself back and let one's own thoughts emerge undeterred and unhindered to fill in the void. Thoughts would expand and twist, a will of their own until they have manifested into reality, too far gone to be riled back into their depths save for the welcoming release of forced unconsciousness.

The data pad hummed with more applause and Hanzo glanced back to it, his knuckles pressed to his cheek, propping up his head while his other hand delicately balanced a cigarette, the faint trail of white smoke a single vertical line within the still air. This was his distraction, the root he held onto to keep from floating within the fog of his own mind. The reminder of people, of domestic humankind, of simple issues with no true threats.

Hanzo was not afraid of assassins, of being tortured or killed. He wasn't afraid of crazed omnics or even the ghost of his brother revisiting. What really and truly frightened the hardened man was buried beneath layers of denial, tucked away to remain just out of conscious reach.

Beneath the data pad was a single piece of paper, half hidden. A rough drawing of the symbol they had found on the man scrawled over it. He knew what it was, Genji as well, and in all honesty he was surprised to have come across it at all.

Akiyama.

His finger stroked at the crumpled corner. The gang should have petered out, should have collapsed in on itself and washed out to be forgotten years ago. It certainly had headed that way before he had left his clan. So what had changed? At the time they were little more than a simple gang, usually doing underhanded work until they managed to extort a local Mayer, who took to one of their brothels and they shot up in local popularity.

They were sloppy though, often plastered over the media and underlings constantly arrested. They couldn't hold onto their fortune like it was a lifeline and in turn could hardly pay off any kind of authority for a consistant period. 

Long laden in tradition Hanzo had sneered at their standing, refusing to even acknowledge them for more than what they actually were: thugs with money. That is until the extortion spread to a Councillor and even the Shimada's could no longer ignore them. Their only saving grace had been-

“I thought you hated that show.” Genji wandered to the half fridge and yanked open the door. The cooling motor started up it's hum as he rifled around within.

Hanzo skipped the ending credits of the show and tapped for the next episode. “Why aren't you resting?”

Genji slapped the fridge door shut with a puff of cushioned air. “I forgot how loud Jesse snores. Surprisingly Hana does too. Likely to lose my hearing.” He snatched the chair from under Hanzo's propped feet and twirled it around to straddle it, tipping it forward to clank against the table. A quiet hiss from his helm and his face plate was set aside. “Think of anything?

Hanzo glanced back down to the tablet, mostly to avoid seeing the removed plate and the face beneath. He pressed the cigarette between his lips and inhaled deeply, using the pause to sort his thoughts. “I always think of something.” he said with a billow of smoke.

“Which means you haven't yet.”

Rubbing his eyes Hanzo still refused to look at him. “If they are not the supplier we have little reason to linger.”

Genji caught it. “If. Why if?”

“None of these firearms were in Japan six months ago. The first location of their discovery being Taiwan.”

“But there was nothing there.” Genji carefully mouths the glass of water.

“Right.”

“Nor the other countries.”

“Some having been around longer than others. Almost twelve months longer.”

“So why not here?” Genji asked, playing the devil's advocate for Hanzo to bounce thoughts off of.

Hanzo tapped at the winkled drawing again. “Outside influence. Supplier could be halfway across the world.”

“Or?”

“...or, more realistically: inside.”

Genji paused to soak it in, try and figure it out himself, though the pieces didn't quite slip into place just yet.

“You are considering that someone here is the supplier.”

Hanzo nodded, tapping the screen to mute the video.

“Couldn't be them, though.”

“No.” Hanzo agreed, “It couldn't. Which is why this doesn't make sense.”

“If it isn't inside we're looking at...what, the rest of the _globe_?”

Hanzo groaned and leaned back in his seat. Genji eyed him cautiously, Hanzo was stiff, he knew the 'I told you so' speech was hovering thickly between them. However, Genji let it simmer a moment longer before dropping the hammer.

“Just leave it for the-”

“ _IF_ it isn't here,” Hanzo cut him off, “If it....if it truly is on a global scale I will cease.” His gaze finally looking up to meet Genji's naked eyes.

Genji nearly dropped his water, “You mean it? You'll stop?”

Hanzo nodded once.

“You'll let the task forces take over?”

He nodded once more.

“You'll join Overwatch with me??”

Hanzo's expression turned sour, “I did not say that.”

The cyborg deflated. “Was worth a shot. You should though. Can do all sorts of shit like this with us.”

“We have always worked alone.”

Genji swallowed hard. Here it goes. “As it turns out I like a team. It's nice to know someone's got your back, and in turn you have theirs. Give and take.”

He regretted saying it the moment it was out. Even though he was braced for retaliation, as he told himself each time, his stomach still sank the moment Hanzo's eyes turned listless and the interest in the conversation took a sudden dive. Hanzo thumbed the data pad to turn on the volume again, twin billows of smoke plumed from his nose filling the space between them akin to snapping blinds closed.

Genji pressed his lips together in a tight line, internally muttering a mantra of patience as he brother completely dismissed the conversation and him without a single word. Three months was stretching into four and he was still scratching at the outer shell. Not that he felt the Shimbali teachings were wrong in any sense, however, a good hammer would be nice against this bullheaded stubbornness.

He sighed and dropped his head, once again letting it be. Speaking now would only fall on deaf ears. _A thousand cuts A thousand cuts A thousand cuts_ He finished his water and stood. “Good night, brother.”

Hanzo watched on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's _guns_ are too loud.  
>  Why did I think that was funny.


	7. Pounding the Pavement

“I'm sensing a pattern here.”

“Now you're just complaining just to complain.” Genji chided in Jesse's ear.

It was hot. The sky was a beautiful deep azure. Not a cloud in sight, but the oppressive heat bore down on the Earth, pressing against tree tops to make leaves droop and cement simmer. The air was thick, refusing to shift to offer the reprieve of a breeze. Muggy summer days. Jesse wouldn't complain about the heat, being a comforting weight, one he knew so well. The humidity, however, he didn't much like.

Regretting his choice in thick flannel shirts Jesse popped the first few buttons of his, trying to give an escape for his own body heat. He took off his hat, fanning himself and cooling the sweat beading on his forehead and neck. The serape and chest plate weren't needed on this trip, though it did sit snugly within his duffel bag, opting for a more civilian casual. As casually civilian as a cowboy in Japan could be.

“I jus' hate sitting around. Seems I've done nothing _but_ that since I've arrived.”

“At least you have company.” Hana snapped.

“So what am I? Chopped liver?” Genji didn't hide his offense.

“You're not _here_ here. This old guy keeps looking at me.”

“If you need assistance just-”

“He's creepy; not threatening.” She added cooly, her gum popping. “I should steal his hairpiece.”

“Hana.” Jesse warned.

“Fine, fine I won't. But we're switching partners next time.”

Jesse glanced over to his 'partner' laid out beside him. Hanzo reclined back against the short roof wall, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles, hands folded over his stomach, head propped back and eyes covered with that stupid gold hair ribbon; softly snoring away.

The man certainly had a talent for sleeping anywhere that wasn't a bed. Despite the heat he wore that same shapeless sweatshirt and the thermal beneath that crawled up the curve of his neck. Jesse sighed, continuing to fan himself. At least he was invited to the roof this time.

Even if Hanzo was being damn cheeky about it. There was no secret of Jesse's dislike to the man. He hated his guts. He would so much as lodge a bullet in his brain, or even better, wrap that gold ribbon around his exposed throat, silently strangle him and leave the body in the heat to cook, birds pecking the corpse beyond recognition. It would be so easy, nobody would find him for months.

Hanzo shifted in his sleep, Jesse paused his fanning as if he was caught thinking aloud. The sweat beading on the Shimada's skin slid down the long stretch of tendon and pooled in a small hollow. The shifting settled with a deep inhale and he slumbered on.

The fact that Hanzo had the gall to drop all defenses right in front of him pissed Jesse off to no ends. Maybe he knew Genji wouldn't like it, probably assumed Jesse would be good to his word and not touch a hair on his chiny chin-chin. Assuming Jesse was a good man in the first place. He knew Hanzo was doing it on purpose: Testing, pushing the boundaries, egging him on. Or _maybe_ he didn't deem Jesse a threat. That thought alone had Jesse pursing his lips and glaring at the sleeping man as if he had verbally accused him.

Maybe he wanted him to do it. Jesse dropped his side-eyed glare and returned to fanning his hat, gazing across the rooftops.

The day was clear enough he could see the tall reach of the downtown buildings off in the distance, in the heart of the city. Where they were now looked more like a suburban area. Low buildings and shops lined the streets, the lazy stroll of pedestrians and the slow roll of passing cars gave way to the slower paced lives. A little weathered with age, and tagged with the occasional graffiti, but it felt like a well lived in area. Pleasant all around.

“Target moving south.”

Jesse perked up and peeked over the ledge.

“Sixty meters north of your position.”

He spotted the target, a meaty woman with tattoo sleeves and brilliant red hair shaved on both sides billowing upwards in some sort of mock rendition of a birds wing.

By now Hanzo shifted awake, half stretching before rolling to his knees to peer over the ledge as well.

“Welcome to the waking world, sleeping beauty.” Jesse chimed enthusiastically, hoping he wasn't much of a morning person.

Hanzo blearily blinked down below several times until his scowl slid solidly into place. Then did he spare a glance at the cowboy. “Oainikusama.”

Jesse's grin remained, but the attention returned to the woman, who had paused before a shop window. Not to look at the wares, but to adjust her hair.

“Moving to intercept.” Hanzo said as he pushed away from the ledge before standing, Jesse following suit, dusting off his ass as he moved to the roof accessed ladder.

“So that girl there.” Jesse started, settling his hat back over his damp hair and hooked his boot over the first rung. “Who is she exactly?”

“She is....” Hanzo paused, finding the right word. “...small fry?” He paused as if seeking confirmation, but Jesse only grunted as he descended. “Used for her arms, not her head. I have intelligence she oversees most of their trades.”

Jesse scaled down the ladder quickly, jumping the last few feet where the ladder cut off landing with a solid thump. “Think she knows what you're looking for?”

“She would know who they receive from. If they have at all.” Hanzo swung onto the ladder, gripping the railing with both hands and feet before simply sliding down the distance with a flare of sparks.

Jesse deadpanned at the display. Show off.

Hanzo brushed past him. Maybe a little.

“Follow only. Stay back five meters.” Hanzo spoke and Jesse followed after, watching the soft sway of the printed ribbon. It seemed such an elegant item for an assassin to wear. Hanzo stopped abruptly and turned, Jesse nearly plowed through him. “Understood?”

“Yeah, yeah I got it.”

Hanzo's eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Exasperated, Jesse threw up his hands. “Look. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. Okay? Faster this is done, faster I'm outta here and onto something worthy of my time.” He ended with his arms crossed, glaring down his nose at the haughty man. “Convinced?”

The glare wasn't returned surprisingly enough, but Hanzo seemed convinced as he pulled the hood over his hair. “Yes.” then stepped out onto the sidewalk. Jesse waited a handful of breaths before strolling out as well.

The sidewalks weren't crowded, leaving little to blend into. That didn't matter to Hanzo. With the heat nearing 32 Celsius a dark jacket would stand out, as well as a pulled hood on a sunny day. On top of that he walked with purpose, eyes locked onto the woman's back, boring into her head, willing her to spot him. He wanted to be noticed, needed to. She needed to panic and run, isolate herself from the public in an attempt to get away. Obvious as he was it wasn't until several shops down that she did notice him. She hardly glanced his direction, but he saw it in the sudden rigidness of her posture, the jolt of realization and the pause after as she tried to figure out what exactly to do.

She turned down the street, shoved her hands into pockets and lowered her head, picking up the pace as she turned onto another smaller back street. He sped up as well, rounding the corner. There was no coincidence now who he was following as fear set in with how often she started to glance over her shoulder. Not just at him, but at her surroundings, up to the windows, down the alleys, to the rooftops, looking for more, fearing the shadows.

After that he didn't give her time to consider her options, pushing into a run. She panicked, yanking her hands from her pockets to bolt, knocking down one lady before skidding and ducking down an alley, Hanzo hot on her trail.

He ducked low before rounding the turn, knowing she was armed, but no shots came. Instead she choose to try and increase the distance. He kicked into a dead sprint. She ran, shouting something, but he was faster, closing the distance. She had to make a quick decision now that escape was not an option. She had to face him. She knew it, he knew it. Decision made she stuttered in her run, slowing just enough to grab for her pistol. The moment she did Hanzo lurched to his right, pulling himself up the wall so that when she did turn and fired two quick shots they met nothing but the empty alleyway. Kicking off the wall he sailed through the air, slamming knee first into her chest, knocking her flat before rolling off with the landing force.

She leapt to her feet and they scuffled in the dirt. She had the weight to match his but lacked the confidence to pull it and sooner rather than later he shoved her against the brick, his forearm pressed across her throat, the barrel of the gun jabbing under her chin as she clutched at her broken arm.

“Who supplies your weapons?” Hanzo hissed, jerking his hips to avoid a knee in the groin.

“Go fuck yourself!” she choked, voice hoarse as she gulped for air.

He pulled the gun away, pressed it to her good shoulder and fired, the shot echoed by her wails as he returned the barrel to her chin. “I will not ask again.”

It took a moment to cease her cries and with another threat to her leg she started to form coherent words. “English! They spoke English!” She admitted, “They wear black!”

Hanzo paused but didn't slacken his grip.

“He had a white mask.” She bubbled on, tears and snot smearing her reddened face. “All black but white mask. Never showed up again, but the deliveries keep coming. I swear. I swear that's all I know!”

“Name.”

She tried to shake her head but the barrel pressed to her jaw stopped the movement.

“Name!”

She sobbed, “T-they won't say! They don't tell us nothing! We just move them. That's all! We aren't allowed to touch them. Please, I swear that's it. I swear that's all I know!”

He believed her. It wasn't enough information to move forward with, but it told him what he needed to know. He straightened up and one last quick punch to her gut killed any mounting courage she might have had before he stepped away from the sobbing mess. The gun he kept, tucking it under the shirt before he searched for her phone and crushed it beneath a metallic heel.

Jesse casually reclined a safe distance from them, at the start of the alley. His back to them he puffed away at one of his thick cigars. At the start of trouble several pedestrians glanced their direction curiously but once there were gunshots they scurried away, no one came to pester. Jesse absently wondered which side of the tracks they were currently on if this sort of thing happened a lot. He was ready to be questioned by authority about gunshots and give them all sorts of nonsense with a thick confusing accent. Instead the street seemed to empty and windows shut tightly.

Hanzo joined Jesse, stopping beside him as he peeled off the sweater and tugged it around his waist. The blood stains wouldn't be noticeable, but the smell might be.

“Ya'll Shimadas fight the same.” Smoke seeped from his lips as he spoke.

Hanzo's nose wrinkled. “We are not the same.”

“Well you both have the tendency to run into a gun fight unarmed.”

“A sword in a fisherman's hand does not make him a warrior.” Hanzo replied, starting to roll up his sleeves, paused at the sight of his tattoo and with a forlorn sigh rolled it back down. It was too damn hot.

“Gun's a little different then a sword. Don't require much training.”

“I agree.” Hanzo grabbed for his own collar and flapped it instead, trying to circulate some fresh air against his skin.

Jesse took another puff of his cigar before it suddenly occurred to him what that implied and he quickly added, “But still takes a lot of training and skill to handle one well.” Too late, Hanzo's lip curled in a faint self satisfying grin.

Alright, he set himself up for that one. It wasn't a lie though, but Jesse didn't have to prove a damn thing to anyone about how good a shot he was. “Get what you wanted?”

“Enough.”

“Enough doesn't sound like a lot.” Jesse glanced over his shoulder where he heard the retreating footsteps as the woman ran off.

“Being so low on the chain she would not know much to start.”

“But enough.”

Hanzo stopped flapping his collar to stare incredulously up at Jesse. “Are you hard of hearing or just simple?”

Jesse eyed him. “You have this irritating habit of giving half an explanation all dramatic like,” he growled, wriggling his prosthetic fingers at Hanzo for emphasis, “And then expect the other half to suddenly _occur_ to me. Oh but it does. It does. At like, two in the morning during a pleasant dream and I'll wake up covered in sweat with an epiphany. 'OH! That's what he meant! What a brilliant guy, that cocksucker!'”

Slowly Hanzo had returned to flapping his collar, watching Jesse's antics out of the corner of his eye, brows raised and a tilt to his chin in an expression that could be nothing less than pure amusement. “Who is being dramatic?”

The head grab was easily sidestepped and Hanzo swung out to the sidewalk just as if he had casually meant to, smoothing the crease on his shirt with the returned smirk. “I simply needed to know that they were not the suppliers. They are the distributors. There could be others across the world, perhaps they are the ones this far east. A step closer, yes, but I will chase it no longer.”

Jesse fell in line beside him, his longer legs making for an easy gait. “Why not?”

“Not my area of expertise.”

“Genji made you quit, huh.”

The dark scowl overtook the grin with such ferocity that had two ladies nearly tripped over a hedge to steer clear of the oncoming thunderstorm. “Genji does not dictate my actions.”

Jesse tipped his hat to the ladies among the leaves with an apology and a wink that only seemed to leave them confused as the two of them passed. “Naw, but he's real good at persuadin'.”

They both winced at the sudden squeal of reverb that had Hanzo yanking the piece out of his ear. It stopping just as instantly as it started followed by Genji apologizing profusely. “Gomen nasai! Sorry sorry! I forgot I get feedback with these when calling long distance.”

“Making the call the Winston?”

“I was about to. Are you both finished? I need to report.”

“Hanzo took his earpiece out.”

“Can't I have a brief summary?”

Jesse reiterated the message to Hanzo who simply shook his head. He wanted to consider his next course of action before relaying anything to Genji and whoever else Genji felt the need to tell since clearly this was now a public affair.

“He's shaking his head.” Jesse played messenger.

“Why?”

“Now he's giving me that death glare.”

“But-”

“Ah! Now he's pushing me into oncoming traffic!” Jesse could almost hear the clank of Genji face palming.

“I doubt that's how he would off you.”

“You're a true friend, Genji.”

“I'll just ask later. Hana found an internet cafe. We'll be back around seventeen hundred.”

“See ya then.” Jesse chuckled, lifting his hat to run fingers through his hair. If Hanzo was bothered by the outlandish accusations, he didn't let on. He merely frowned at Jesse's strange one sided conversation, then looked past him to the slow traffic beyond as if he truly was considering the act.

“He didn't believe me.” Jesse reassured him. “So we jus' gonna stroll around here? Aren't you a bit worried someone might come after you?”

“No.” Hanzo said, pulling out his own phone to check the time and the GPS then glanced around briefly as it calibrated.

“Not even a little?” Jesse asked.

“I encourage it.”

Jesse arched a brow, he hadn't realized uptight and stern would be so damn reckless. Not since he had survived after ten years of being hunted. But then again Jesse was the same. He might hunker down until things cool off, but he had never in his life tried to reform himself to actually escape the law.

They continued to walk, turning down several streets, putting distance behind them when Hanzo spotted several cafe's and glanced to Jesse. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”


	8. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: racism
> 
> Not what you might think.

Outside in the warm sun the little town didn't seem quite as run down or tired at first glance. It had a feeling of being lived in, were traditions were born and forgotten through time, a rustic charm Jesse could appreciate.

At least it was on the outside.

An electric chime pinged as they stepped into the small cafe, alerting the single employer to their presence. Inside the warmth ended, but the heat continued. The windows were taped up with cheap tinting, yellowed with age, darkened further by lopsided plastic blinds cutting the sunbeams into jagged shapes along the linoleum.

Of the pleather cracked booths lined against the windows only two were occupied. One held several grizzled men, the salt of the earth, ones that worked with their hands. The other held a couple cute college girls that blushed when Jessed tipped his hat in greeting to them.

Hanzo settled on a stool at the counter, calling for the one waiter as Jesse sat beside him. The waiter, or perhaps he was the owner, was a stooped gangly man, bald with a threadbare comb-over and a flat, weathered face. He sat down the utensils he was wiping down and shuffled to the two of them, beady eyes locked onto Jesse.

He paused before Hanzo and spoke to him without looking his way. Hanzo gave no pause in answering and whatever he said made the old man turn to finally take a look at the archer, look back at McCree, then Hanzo again before his winkles stretched into a grin and he wheezed into a series of laughs then shuffled back through the doorway into the kitchen.

Jesse rounded on Hanzo. “What was that about?”

“He said he doesn't serve Americans.”

That rose Jesse's brows. Of all the things he thought he would come across, racism was honestly the last thing he expected. “Did he now.”

“I told him you were a dog and that surely he served loyal canines.” Hanzo stated calmly.

Jesse glared hard at Hanzo's profile, who didn't seem to notice. “You're a real charmer, Shimada.”

“On occasion.”

“You know he's gonna spit in my food. Or..something worse.” Jesse rubbed at his eyes.

Hanzo hummed in agreement.

“Well I ain't hanging around to eat snot filled food for your enjoyment.” Jesse spun on his stool to stand but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Calm yourself. I will switch bowls when he brings them out then speak with him.” Hanzo replied, waving off the issue as if it was a minor inconvenience and pulled out his phone to tap through.

Jesse stared down at him, unconvinced, until even Hanzo couldn't ignore the glare. The tapping on his phone paused when he glanced up, “I did not know this would happen.” he offered with little sympathy. “I do not know this area.”

As if on cue the shopkeeper returned with two bowls, sliding them onto the counter before the both of them with a particularly leery grin at Jesse. As if his intentions weren't obvious enough. “Dozo omeshiagarikudasai.”

The word was cut off when Hanzo grabbed both bowls and switched them around. The old man looked taken aback and Hanzo leaned forward on one elbow, staring right at him. The shopkeeper stared between the two bowls then back at Hanzo and rapped something out. Hanzo replied calmly then started to poke through the rice. The old man watched on, narrowing his eyes as if he was about to let dementia run several more customers out of his shop when stopped short, staring at Hanzo's left hand.

Suddenly the shopkeeper was sweating bullets and laughed nervously. Jesse couldn't figure out the reason to the sudden shift in attitude, peering between the two of them reading body language instead of words, but Hanzo had offered nothing unless he could spill out a threat without speaking.

The bowl was shoved back to the old man with a clucked reply and the old man snatched it up, speaking a mile a minute and bowed while backing up. Jesse assumed it was something along the line of apologizes. Once the shopkeeper disappeared back into the kitchen Hanzo snagged back his original bowl from between Jesse's hands and settled to tuck into his meal.

Jesse watched him pick through the food, carefully separating the overcooked with the decent pieces, his own chin propped up on his palm. “You know you don't have to threaten everyone all the time.”

“It is quicker that way.” Hanzo replied between bites.

“Sure, but it doesn't solve anything.”

Hanzo paused his chewing to swallow and fix Jesse with a disapproving look. “If you wish to spend hours discussing philosophy and ethics to try and change one old man of his ways, then by all means do so.” He took another bite, “I will not.” In short: he did not care.

Jesse snorted, he wasn't really sure what he had expected in the first place.

A small, polite cough had the cowboy glancing over his shoulder and straightened when he saw one of the girls from the booth standing behind him. He stood abruptly, tugging off his hat and pressed it to his chest, gracing her with a warm smile. “Well howdy, lil' miss. What can I do ya for?”

She colored and bowed, hands clasped neatly on the platted skirt as she offered her own greeting, peering up at him through the thick fall of long hair, her eyes warm and inviting. A little too inviting. She said something he couldn't comprehend and pointed back to the booth she had been residing in with her friend. The other girl had a shorter bob haircut, peeking out over the pleather bench. She squeaked when Jesse looked over and ducked out of sight. He chuckled, amused at the girls shyness.

The girl beside him held out a small folded napkin with a phone number on it, gripped gently with both hands. Jesse gingerly pinched the corner between thumb and forefinger, not wanting to intimidate the girl, and drawled out a 'thank you kindly' with such smooth molasses that she visibly shivered. She rolled her lips, saying something further that he just shook his head to. “I can't understand a word yer saying, darling.”

She cocked her head at him, frowning then looked to Hanzo. Jesse looked to Hanzo. Hanzo pointedly ignored them both, not offering his translating serves to help get Jesse laid. Instead he leaned forward to bend over the counter and fished blindly around the other side, pulling up a bottle. Disappointed with what he grabbed he put it back and rooted for another. Jesse startled hismself when he realized he was blatantly staring at Hanzo's ass, quickly looking back to the girl wide eyed and laughed wholeheartedly if a bit loudly, which spurned her into her own giggles. She even pressed a hand over her mouth. Cute girl. Sweet and docile.

Bob hair girl couldn't seem to suffer alone any longer, darting out from the booth to run and snag the inviting girl, grasping her hand to drag them both away. She girl fought as best she could, continuing to chatter at Jesse as he could only nod at first then shook his head, lost but amused to all hell. They both disappeared outside, one giggling and waving, the other red faced and scowling.

Jesse offered his own farewell wave before plopping his hat back onto his head and settling back onto the stool. He spun himself around and slapped the napkin onto the countertop hard enough to make Hanzo's bowl shudder. “Lookit that! Not three days in your country and I've already got some cute girl's number.” He leaned in close, all devious grins, invading Hanzo's personal space to spur on a reaction. He was a handsome fucker in any damn language and he was _going_ to gloat about it.

Genji would have barked a laugh and claim he could do better. Hanzo jabbed chopsticks in his face, “Do not bring them back with you. Find a hotel.” Then returned to drinking the contents of whatever bottle he had found.

Deflated, Jesse returned to propping his chin in his hand, watching Hanzo eat, trying not to feel too disappointed and frown too obviously. He honestly had no intention of actually contacting the young girls, but he was seriously considering it now out of spite. The idea of Hanzo banging on the wall at 3am and yelling at them to shut the hell up made Jesse smirk.

Hanzo paused then suddenly looked to Jesse, as if he heard his thoughts, but looked beyond his head as a heavy hand slapped down on Jesse's broad shoulder. A graveled voice spoke behind him. He clenched his teeth, muttering something about needing to learn how to say he doesn't speak the language. The voice continued on, the pitch low, nearly threatening. Jesse peered up the arm to the haggard face without the offer of a welcoming smile this time.

“They don't like you.” Hanzo pointed out _just_ in case Jesse had missed that hint.

The hand dropped as one of the man's buddies spoke behind him.

“They don't like you flirting with their girls.”

“Thanks Shimada. You're a real peach.”

“Douitashimashite.”

The third man stepped up and cracked his knuckles. That didn't need a translation.

Jesse rose from the stool to his full height, rolling his shoulders and spread his hands to show he meant no harm. “Now fellas, I ain't lookin' for a fight. Let's all just relax and have one of these marvelous meals.”

The first barked something at him then fell back into an obvious fighting stance with the other two following.

“Well.” Only one had the decency to take a hesitant step back when Jesse cracked his own knuckles. “If you insist.” The other two were confident on their numbers alone. Three against one. No weapons, just a good ol' fashioned brawl. Jesse liked those odds.

“Hanzo, hold my hat.” Jesse plucked it from his head and handed it over.

Hanzo instantly recoiled away from it, staring at him as if he were handing him a pile of dog shit. “No.

“C'mon! You gotta hold a man's hat while he fights. It's only proper.” Jesse nearly lost his bravado, waving it at the archer now to try and entice him to holding it.

“It is filthy, keep it away.” Hanzo batted it out of Jesse's hand to haphazardly tumble to the floor.

Jesse gasped, but there was no time to mourn the indecency his hat went through as the first man swung and the other two followed behind.

Brawls like these, born of anger in civilians, had to be treated rather delicately. The three were no real threat to him, their punches wild and jabs were without measure, but he wasn't about to crack skulls and call it a done deal either.

Jesse danced between the three, ducking four blows, taking one hit, and answering with an uppercut with his flesh hand. His prosthetic was used for grabbing and holding only, blocking another blow before twining that arm around a neck and popping the man several times in his exposed face.

He called playfully to Hanzo as he ducked another wild swing, “You gonna help me? I'm out numbered here!”

“I'm still eating.” Hanzo replied, ducking as one man stumbled backwards towards him, an arm sailing over his head before crashing against a barstool. Apparently Hanzo also assumed them to be no threat either, having turned to casually watch the scene. He actually hoped Jesse would get his ass kicked and was slowly being disappointed.

By now the shopkeeper had returned with the new bowl of food, saw the fight, and started to shout frantically. He grabbed his fly swatter and came around the counter to beat at their heads, shouting at them to stop, to clean up this mess, and who was going to pay for damages? If they didn't stop this instant he would call for the police.

Hanzo grabbed for the new bowl, pulling it within his little protective bubble beside his own within the chaos, courteous enough to keep it safe should Jesse survive.

The fighting fell apart after that, all four of them ducking under the shopkeepers furious fly swatter beatings. The first guy ran out, the shopkeeper chasing him down the road. The second hesitated until Jesse sent a final punch across the third's face that had him sagging in the corner, out cold. The second fled the shop.

Bruised, bloody, and feeling the best he had in weeks, Jesse bent to snatch up his hat and made a show of slapping the dirt off on his leg before settling it on his wild hair. He plopped back onto his barstool, rubbing at his split knuckles and mourning the absence of his single glove. He sniffed up smeared blood dribbling down his nose, “For the record.” he started, rubbing the back of his hand over his split lip, “I didn't want to fight.”

“There is no record. Only action.” Hanzo's lips threatened to curve into a smirk, just a hint. Even with his enjoyment of the scene the smile never reached his eyes. They remained cold, solid, hardened to the point of bleakness.

Jesse saw that look before. Eyes that didn't hide how he had seen some shit, done some shit, and was completely convinced violence was his own personal mistress. It ate through bullshit, peeled away make-up, expensive clothing, polite niceties, and clever antics. It cut straight to one's naked center, exposing how truly worthless it all was.

_He_ had those eyes.

The thought had Jesse quickly shaking his head. He couldn't think about that, not now.

Hanzo slid the bowl of food toward Jesse, a spoon tucked into the rice to save him the trouble of chopsticks. Black eyes met his coffee ones and he felt it: Jesse was nothing to him, not even a footnote in this long chapter, a memory easily forgotten. A meat shield not meant to survive. “You deserve this, mutt.”

_The light flickered, the damn bulb was either not screwed in all the way or the sway of the fan kept knocking it loose. The heat was different here, dry and dirty, choked with the dust from the desert. Wooden paneling and mounted antlers in place of windows was a feeble attempt to forget they were in the middle of dry, barren nothing._

_He looked at Jesse, the tilted smirk curled beneath the bushy mustache didn't soften the pierce of his gaze. It never did._

_“We aren't out here to think. We're here to get it done, whatever it is, we do it. No questions. We don't have the luxury of a conscious like the boys in blue do. But you're already familiar with that, aren't you?”_

_Jesse thought that one day he would grow into that look. Join the thicker men with their mean mugs and dark humor. One day his skin would be so thick nothing could wriggle beneath it and he could settle comfortably in even the scummiest of bars without a worry in the world._

_”You deserve this, mutt.” Reyes had said, pushing the glass of bourbon his way._

Jesse stared down at the unappetizing pile of undercooked meat glazed in some kind of cream sauce.

“It is not poisoned.” Hanzo said, noticing Jesse's hesitation. "I think."

Jesse spurred himself into movement and started in without comment. Chewy but flavorful. Not as bad as he expected, but definitely cheap quality.

“Eat quickly, we have three minutes until the police arrive.” Hanzo drained the rest of the bottle he stole and reached back over the counter to put it back empty.

“Just one endless car chase with you.” The haze of memories flitted from Jesse's head like bats out of an attic and he eased back into the present.

Halfway through his bowl tires squealed outside. They both leaned back on their stools to peer out the glass door. Two black cars ran up the curb as they lurched to a halt and men started to pile out of them, several carrying bats.

“Strangest police I've ever seen. You don't suppose-” Jesse turned to Hanzo but the archer had already vaulted over the counter and was dashing to the kitchen. Jesse hurled himself over as well, the bowl shattering behind him as he followed the gold ribbon trail between ovens and stoves. He skid, his boots slipping on spilled grease, arms windmilling as he heard the thud of a door slamming open. Jesse followed the sound, crashing through the back door before it shut completely and slammed solidly into Hanzo's back, making them both tumble.

At least a dozen guns pushed into his face. Hanzo's hands were up and reluctantly Jesse raised his as well.


	9. Out of the Pot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: bad translations

Both Hanzo and Jesse were shoved face first against the brick, hands patted them down and removed their weapons. Peacekeeper was taken along with his extra clips while Hanzo's shirt was tugged up to claim the dagger strapped to his chest and the spare gun he had taken. Afterwards they were herded back into the shitty little cafe with shouts and abrasive shoves. Once inside they were instructed to stand and not move, hands to remain at shoulder level.

There they waited. The twenty something suited mob squad eased into chairs and booths, reclining against tables and counters. Jesse did a head count, twenty three. That is way too many to be a standard pick up.

Two good ones usually sufficed. Jesse was confident he could handle six on his own. A dozen or so with Hanzo at his side. But twenty three? That seemed overkill. Then again maybe it wasn't. Whoever dispatched them obviously had little confidence in their own men and made the conscious decision to drown them both in numbers instead of beat them with skill.

Jesse glanced to Hanzo, hoping for something, an explanation perhaps. But the archer merely gazed forward, unconcerned , as if they were waiting in a slow line at an ATM. In any other situation Jesse would feel the same, but he wasn't so sure he could smooth talk through the language barrier.

“Hey.” Jesse prodded.

Hanzo didn't even blink, gaze sweeping over the row of windows leading to the lazy street.

“Psst, hey.” Jesse nudged him with an elbow. It wasn't exactly quiet but he had little choice. Nobody seemed to mind as long as they didn't move from their spot.

“What.” Hanzo swayed with the nudge and finally looked at him, the mild irritation returned. Damn but the cowboy was mouthy.

“Got something to explain?” Jesse whispered, raising expectant brows at him.

“I may have....” Hanzo's lips pressed into a thin line and his gaze darted away guiltily. “...made a _slight_ misjudgment.” He murmured back carefully.

“You don't say.” Jesse didn't seem impressed. “A slight misjudgment. You really think so?” He almost laughed. “We're surrounded in this hole in the wall waiting for who knows what to come blow our brains out and you may have made a slight _misjudgment_.”

Hanzo hissed quietly, “I did not realize their reach was this far.”

“Racist diner should have been the first clue to trouble.”

“I did not know about that either. I have not been to this area before.” Hanzo said.

“No? Not at all?” Jesse scoffed.

“Are you accusing me that I had brought you here on purpose? You did not have to stay.”

“I wanted to leave but you were so sure you could fix it.” Jesse murmured, their whisper fight growing louder by the word.

“I should have let you eat the snot rice.” Hanzo growled.

“Fuck you.” Jesse snorted, rolling his shoulders.

This was petty. They needed to figure out how to get out of this first. Argue after. Jesse prodded again. “So, uh, who's reach were you tryin' avoid anyway?”

Hanzo's jaw worked, the muscle jumped and he nodded toward the front as another car rolled up. “Him.”

The door burst open, almost shattering the large window it bounced against, the panes rattled in their frames as a man stepped through and threw his arms open wide. “Okaerinasai, Shimada-sama!”

'He' was no taller than Hana herself, hair spiked in a vain attempt to give the allusion of height or perhaps emphasize the wild enthusiasm the man had. His grin was wide, framed with a thin mustache and soul patch, eyes expressive, crinkling at the edge to indicate age despite the nearly childlike glee that instantly put Jesse on edge. Tiny, blue circular sunglasses perched on his rounded nose.

His suit was impeccably white, the jacket thrown open to reveal the shimmering lavender shirt exposing much of his flat chest draped with heavy golden chains. He looked like he stepped right out out of the disco era and from the flipping of his heavily ringed fingers Jesse safety assumed he enjoyed the melody's of Diana Ross as well.

He stepped into the room with his white leather loafers, one hand shoved into a pocket as the other snapped fingers in the air to gain the attention of a nearby floozy. White suit pointed toward Jesse and muttered something before the guard was shooed away like an annoying pest.

The shopkeeper suddenly popped up from behind him, pushing past him in a flurry of excited chatter, pointing at Hanzo and jabbing his chest, then grabbed for Hanzo's left wrist and yanked his sleeve up, exposing the tattoo he kept hidden. So that's what happened, Jesse frowned. The shopkeeper was pulled away and a thick wad of money was shoved into his hands. His eyes widened at the amount of cash handed to him and he bowed profusely as he was gently shooed outside and out of the way.

Once he was gone the man in the white suit strolled forward with the lazy swagger of a cock sure rooster and paused before Hanzo, not hiding how he raked his gaze suggestively over him. The gesture itself was to cause discomfort and to shorten tempers, but Hanzo showed no sign of ruffled feathers. “Anata wa anata no chuchuoya ni naritsutsu arimasu.” His voice was playful, a lit tenor that was too honeyed to be sweet.

“Arigato gozimasu.” Hanzo replied dryly.

“Sore wa sanjude wanai.” He raised his chin, smirking up at Hanzo despite the obvious height difference, reaching up to heavily pat Hanzo's cheek before sliding his attention toward Jesse. He moved to stand before the cowboy, appraising him just as he did the archer. “Cowboy?”

Jesse risked a glance to Hanzo, since he knew this man, but the archer offered nothing, not even a glance. Honesty it is then. “Ahyup.” Jesse drawled, trying to hook his thumbs into his belt loops, but was immediately reprimanded to keep his hands in the air.

Boss man's face lit up and suddenly hands slapped at Jesse's chest like bongo drums with a peel of laughter. “A real American cowboy! You are so big!” The hands squeezed Jesse's biceps and Jesse might have felt pride if he didn't feel completely violated instead, blinking owlishly down at him in absolute disbelief.

The boss man was as energetic as Hana and twice as flamboyant as he stepped back and threw his arms open as if to greet them both. “Well! I welcome you to Sendai. I don't get out of the pool in this weather for just anything, but I feel like this is a special occasion! You must tell me why you're here. Come, come.” He tried to corral them both into one of the abandoned booths.

Neither of them moved, standing defiantly, and in Jesse's case, scandalized. After a stretch of silence, him peering between the two with an expectant smile, gesturing to the benches. The switch to anger was so sudden and unexpected everyone in the room jumped at the shriek, “SITDOWN!”

Hesitantly Jesse and Hanzo slipped into the booth, one on each side and instructed to keep their hands flat on the table top. A lone plate sat in the middle, the remnants of a forgotten meal.

“I will speak English for you, cowboy.” The man had returned to smiles and cheers when they complied, sliding into sit beside Hanzo, settling comfortably with a leg crossed over his knee.

“Mighty kind of you.” Jesse drawled, starting to feel just how trapped they may be as he squeezed between the booth and table edge.

“Yes. It is.” The man beamed. “I am being rude. Call me Masao.” Bright eyes wandered across Jesse's shoulders once more, down to this fingers splayed out across the table. “And you are?”

“Joel.” McCree answered without hesitation.

“Jo-all...” Masao echoed with a faint nod, expressive brows pinched as he tried to round the vowels. He sat back, “That is a terrible name, my friend.”

Jesse frowned, “That ain't very nice.”

“Jay-see Mack-ree.” The large guard read aloud, lips puckering in confusion as he tried to read off Jesse's name. He set a data pad before Masao which showed that same damn picture of McCree it had for five years now. He should get a haircut.

Masao peered down at the pad, whistling softly as he scrolled through the endless counts of crimes Jesse's supposedly committed. “Sixty million credits. In thirty countries” He looked up. “That is a lot.”

The bench leather creaked as Hanzo leaned over to also peer down at Jesse McCree's smug mugshot. Jesse didn't realize how round Hanzo's eyes could become, staring at the screen, up at him then back again. Now, Jesse was always torn between pride with how high he managed to raise the price on his own head, and disappointment that he was on it at all. But as Hanzo slowly leaned back again, regarding Jesse curiously, as if seeing the man for the first time, he couldn't help the selfish flush of pride.

Jesse waggled his brows at him, “Pretty good for a look out, ain't it?”

Hanzo didn't hide his curiosity, even if it also held suspicion. “How?”

“Well, that is a lengthy string of long tales. Don't believe everything that says though.” Jesse gestured to the long list beneath his picture. “They'll throw anything under my name at this point.” He paused, eyeing Hanzo's suspicious look. “You didn't know?”

That brought the heavy defensive brows solidly back over narrowed eyes. “I am no bounty hunter.”

Suddenly, Jesse had the upper hand on Hanzo he didn't realize he had. “Shame. I am.”

That same muscle twitched in Hanzo's jaw. “How much for me?”

Jesse didn't hesitate. “Thirteen million. Specifically dead.”

Hanzo bristled. “Perhaps I should try my hand at some bounty hunting.”

“Yeah? What would you do with that kind of cash?” Jesse asked.

“Burn it over your grave.”

Jesse sucked on his tongue, hiding the smirk that threatened to overtake him. He could play this game. “Wanna know what I'd do with yours?”

“No.” Came the immediate answer.

That wasn't fucking fair. Irritation surged through Jesse so quickly his nostrils flared. One does not start a game and then _drop_ it instantly. He was too damn tired of running face first into proverbial slammed doors. So he turned to Masao instead. “You can have him.”

“I intend to.” Masao cooed sweetly. He had been completely enthralled in their conversation, fingers laced together where he propped up his chin, gazing adoringly between the two of them as if he was watching some high school drama. “You're just too good for him, Jo-all.” he reached over and wrapped his arm around Hanzo's shoulders, “He belongs here anyway.”

Hanzo stiffened at the touch, then slowly rolled his shoulders to subtly try and slide Masao's arm off.

“Rina will be thrilled to see you again.” Masao continued, pressing against Hanzo's side, fingertips walking up the archer's thick arm. “She still visits me. Once a year. First week of May.” he purred, his breath stirring the fine grey hairs fanned across Hanzo's ear.

Hanzo's glare intensified the closer Masao got to him and Jesse was caught right on the receiving end. He knew, though, that he wasn't the cause of the glare, but he couldn't stop shifting in his seat as the situation grew more and more awkward. And those damn eyes bore right through him, catching him like a deer in headlights and causing another shift he currently didn't exactly need right now.

Hanzo wasn't going to dignify him with an answer and Masao seemed to enjoy the discomfort he was causing. Hell, he reveled in it, leaning closer to sniff along Hanzo's neck like he was seeking out the intimate scent of hate. “Do you know who she brings with her? Hmm? For a special holiday?” To Jesse's horror Masao's tongue unfurled between his teeth and slid up the outer shell of Hanzo's ear.

Granted, Jesse had know the archer only a handful of days and most of that time he had only boasted an impressive resting bitch face. Pupils dilated and pure rage twisted the regal features in the span of moments startling Jesse enough that he jerked backwards as the lone plate found its way into Hanzo's hand and shattered across Masao's face.

The room erupted into movement. Masao fell out of the booth, clutching his face and screaming, every gun in the room snapped up to train on them. Jesse was already moving, knowing an opening when he saw one and flipped up the table between them and the mob, not to block shots but to distract and obscure vision enough to five into the next booth, away from the volley that followed.

One bullet punched through his calf, luckily it shot out the otherside, but it was enough to keep Jesse down under his cover. There was more screaming, which from the pitch assumed it was Masao, and the firing ceased. Two men whirled on Jesse and grabbed for him, but he swiftly broke one nose with the heel of his boot and kicked him off sending him sprawling backwards into the other. Jesse had no idea where Hanzo was and he had to trust the man was still alive.

Hanzo himself had done the same as Jesse, diving into the next booth to avoid the fire. But Masao had screamed a cease fire, yelling at his lugs how he wanted them alive. Hands lunged for him instead, bodies twining to try and snag his shirt, his feet, anything to pull him out of the booth.

He was weaponless and hopelessly outnumbered, his options narrowed severely as he twisted to kick them off of him. The dragons coiled just beneath Hanzo's skin, reacting to the desperation, purring at their master for their release, to devour and feed. To conquer. They whispered promises he didn't desire, but today. Today he would indulge.

“Ryuuga wagateki wo KURAU!” The last word escaped him in an inhuman roar as white heat shot through his veins, the scalding flames seared over his skin, empowering and consuming. Without a projectile for the dragons to lock onto they overtook his own body instead. Ethereal flames swirled down his left arm as it slammed into the nearest face, sending the man flying through the air to crash into the opposite wall, shattering shelves of dishes and bottles.

It wasn't a yell or a scream, it could only be described as a booming roar so loud Jesse clamped his hands over his ears, imagination running wild on how a lion managed to get into this city cafe. He poked his head out, watching in disbelief as Hanzo just plowed headlong into the churning crowd.

Jesse gaped. He was insane. Insane and on fire.

Someone with a bat had the misfortune of swinging and missing only to have his face grabbed with what Jesse swore was long, talon tipped fingers. Flesh melted from bone as his entire face was ripped off, landing with a wet slap right by Jesse's boot. He clasped a hand over his mouth to keep from loosing his meager lunch as the mans scream gurgled and died.

Despite the ferocity the gang surged forward onto Hanzo, Jesse forgotten with this new threat. Peacekeeper sat calmly on the counter across the cafe, probably ten feet away. Someone stumbled back onto the counter, grabbing madly for it and swung around to fire into the crowd. Jesse lunged and tackled him down, knocking the revolver out of his grip and pummeled his head until he stopped moving. With Peacekeeper back in hand a fresh calm fell over the cowboy, his head clearing.

He was near the door. He could make it out and away safely. Jesse turned to look at it, unguarded, open. They wouldn't even notice him leaving. Another dragon roar made the walls tremble and a body flew threw a window just to the left of the opened door, rolling to a halt on the sidewalk beyond.

He should run. This wasn't his fight.

Looking back he saw Hanzo, swathed in ethereal blue flames, swarmed by three men, dragging him down to his knees. Jesse rose from his crouch to one knee, Peacekeeper's heavy weight grounding as he leveled the barrel steadily. He should leave.

Three rapid shots were lost beneath the roar, but each of the three slackened their grip and slid off of Hanzo's back like the shedding of a second skin.

Now Jesse was noticed. Shouts rose over the rumble, Jesse heard the shrill pitch of Masao's own yelling. Two men charged for Jesse and he jumped to his feet, adrenaline pushing through the weakness of his left leg and fanned the rest of his ammo into the first one's belly. The second caught him around the middle, throwing him back with a grunt. They rolled, slamming against a table and sending chairs skittering until Jesse pounded his way free and broke for the door. He crashed through, skidding to a halt among the shattered glass.

“Hanzo!” Jesse shouted, sweeping his arm in a huge 'come on' gesture. The dragon turned to him, dropping the woman he had been throttling to regard Jesse and the freedom behind him.

The hesitation was all they needed.

A smaller weapon fired with a twang, launching two wires at the dragon's chest, small tines latched onto his shirt. Before he could react 50,000 volts of electricity surged through his body. Air pushed from his lungs as they squeezed too tightly, his muscles locked up, his boots glowed too brightly and sparked about his knees as they collapsed beneath him. Hanzo crumpled to the ground in a mess of convulsions. Whatever ancient Shimada magic he was infused with snuffed out like a pinched candle wick.

Jesse winced. Shit. He wasn't helping at all. The bat swinger was back for Jesse, this time catching him in the ribs with an unsettling crunch. Jesse retaliated with a punch to the gut to double him over then guided his face to Jesse's incoming knee. The man went down with a squeal, grasping at his nose. Adrenaline was wearing thin and pain returned from it's faint hum to complain loudly through his side and down his leg.

The electric current stopped. The release of Hanzo's muscles was such a sudden relief he gasped loudly as his lungs ballooned, sucking in breath and he curled on his side in a feeble attempt to protect himself. The second surge had his back arching off the ground, boots whirring in overdrive once again and his jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. This one lasted longer, or perhaps it only felt like it.

By the time the third surge ended his vision was swimming and his ears ringing, gulping for breath hard enough to choke as residual tremors racked his frame. Masao's bleeding face floated over him, grinning down at him. Gravy still dripped from his hair.

Hanzo's ears were static. He felt drained, weak, as if he had carried a two ton car up a mountain at a dead sprint. His hands trembled too hard to support any weight, his attempts feeble trying to just push himself up on hands and knees. In the distance he could make out McCree fighting off his own attacker. He pistol whipped the woman and she stumbled. He must be out of ammo. With her down they both locked gazes before Jesse too was shouting something at him. Hanzo strained to move, twitching fingers scraped across the filthy linoleum scratching streaks into the drying blood.

Now that Hanzo wasn't a major threat a small group broke off and charged at Jesse. He blocked the first hit and tripped a second but a wayward fist got him beneath the jaw and sent him sprawling backwards into the arms of another. They locked around him as the fist swung again, slamming to his cheek and he slumped in the hold, blood freely dribbling from his lips.

Three bodies fell onto Hanzo, grasping at his arms and yanked them back behind him as knees pressed down against his neck and shoulders. Masaso wiped his face clean with a handkerchief, holding his gushing nose and looking a little more at ease at this change of events.

“Kara no aishi o foru.” Masao commanded, “Watashi wa kara ga arukitakunai.”

Large hands grabbed for Hanzo's metallic ankles, pulling and twisting. When nothing gave way blades sliced through his jeans and into his skin, hacking at his leg muscles until the soft meat gave way to the sturdier aluminum. They weren't boots, they weren't prosthetics. They were leg enhancements and they were ripped clean from Hanzo's knees. Blood and tissue arched through the air splattering a jagged line across a window.

Jesse was dragged into a nearby car and shoved within. The slam of the car door abruptly cut off Hanzo's screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving tazers a little leeway, considering this is the foreseeable future.
> 
> Also, Hanzo's legs. I'll continue with them in the next chapter.


	10. Once inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder:
> 
> this isn't a very nice story

The car hummed on smoothly, having no tires meant no traction and only swayed gently as they turned. The car slowed to a stop at a red light and settled in idle. The back door opened and a well dressed mobster fell to the pavement, his head having been spun around on his shoulders.

Jesse's boots hit the asphalt after him, grunting as his leg complained with the weight. Paying it no mind he limped to the driver side door and yanked it open with his good arm, his left dangled at his side, dripping with blood. A second body spilled out of the car, his throat having been torn open. Jesse took his seat in the driver's chair.

The dashboard screen lit up at him in elegant kanji swirls. He jabbed at the buttons until a map lit up, threw the car into drive, and sped off.

 

“I'm telling the God damned truth. He just exploded into blue fire and took on all twenty of them alone. And he was _winning_ too.” Jesse knocked back the remainder of the bourbon from the bottle and just caught himself before slamming it onto the table, instead setting it down carefully. The needle slid through his skin, tightening another careful stitch.

“Where were you?” Hana stared openly at him, sitting on her hands so she wouldn't vibrate off the chair with the need to just get up and GO.

Jesse rubbed at his eyes, willing the tremors to stop, “I got three off of him, three or four after my ammo ran out, but once that taser had him down they swarmed over him like bees. I got knocked around after that, dragged away.” He pauses to shake his head. “I fucked it up. Just that one second....that one second. I didn't know, I didn't fucking _know_.” He sighed, glaring at the empty bottle, “Just damn lucky I didn't completely black out.”

Hana nodded absently, rolling her lips between teeth in a nervous gesture. Jesse's own stomach was in a a knot. After dispatching the two in the vehicle he had driven close enough to the safehouse to walk the rest of the way, but still ditched the car in an inconspicuous spot after ripping out the dashboard computer. By the time the car would be found they would all be long gone. Luckily both Genji and Hana had been relaxing inside the safehouse when he burst in.

“So what do we do now?” Hana asked, “Call the police?”

“They won't respond or just run us in circles.” Genji spoke, breaking his long silence as he worked on stitching up Jesse's leg. When he finished he plucked a biotic pack from where they med kit was strewn across the table and used McCree's hand to press it against the new stitches. It wouldn't instantly heal the wound, but it would kickstart the process.

“The Akiyama had tripled in size within the last year as well as their territory. There is no exact map I can pull up to show where, but I assume Hanzo thought he was out of their range this far from the city.” Genji continued while putting away the gauze and antiseptics. “I guess we aren't.”

“The shopkeeper was paid off.” Jesse put in. Genji merely bobbed his head and stood to put the med kit away. He seemed indifferent at the news, giving little reaction but that simply wasn't the case. He had forgotten how calm Genji was under pressure. He didn't succumb to it, he simply seemed to ease into his roll and perform with a clear head. It was an almost impossible standard Jesse had to constantly try to live up to back in Blackwatch, having had the shortest temperament in the entire squad. But many, many beatings between Reyes and his own peers toned him down eventually. Genji still made it look so easy.

“We have to act within 24 hours.” Genji pulled the empty bourbon bottle out of Jesse's hand and replace it with a bottle of water. “You are injured. You should remain here.”

Jesse popped several blue pills in his mouth and chugged half the bottle of water. “Like hell I'm sitting on my ass. I'll be tip top by the time we get there.” He pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed for his serape, throwing it around his shoulders.

Genji regarded him evenly. “You seem eager considering all the underlying threats you so blatantly spoke of against him.” He cocked his head. “Did something happen?”

“Oh you know me.” Jesse slid into his trademark grin a little to easily. “If anyone's gonna turn in that bounty, it's gonna be me. Even if it isn't a very big one. Guess nobody cares about clan politics.” He turned away a bit too quickly and busied himself with putting together his clips, straighten his cigars, anything to keep from looking at Genji and how he crossed his arms in disbelief.

Hana returned from where she had disappeared and dropped her pack onto the table, spilling out her pistol and several rechargeable magazines. “You are not turning him in or so help me I will turn in your ass myself.” She glared at McCree's back, who merely hmphed in response. “Alright, ladies.” She slapped her hands on the table top and eyed them both. “We have a code red, hostage retrieval. One of our own is locked away and we cannot leave him behind. So. What's the plan?”

McCree and Genji glanced at each other then back to her. Hana's eyes glinted eagerly.

 

* * *

_The ropes pulled tighter the more he struggled, his fingers had long turned purple and swelled with the lack of blood flow._

_"No one will come to save you.”_

_Socked feet made no sound on the hardwood as they stepped around his stooped form, a long reed switch bobbed just in his peripheral vision._

_“You are a man to your allies, humble and mortal. But to your enemies you must be more.”_

_He struggled again, trying to calm his heart and relax his muscles enough to slip free._

_“They won't care if you are man, woman, omnic or anything in between. They will hurt you. Try to remind you that you are nothing.”_

_Sweat dribbled down his brow, his skin itching where stray hair clung along his throat. The switch whistled through the air and stung on his back. He bit his tongue to keep from reacting._

_“Convince them you are otherwise. You are beyond their touch and their torment. Even when they strike you again.”_

_Swap_

_“And again.”_

_Snap_

_“And again.”_

_A volley of thin strikes marred along his back, until his skin split open, until the raw muscle beneath was struck mercilessly, until he couldn't hold back the cry of agony. Instantly he dropped his head in shame._

_“You only have yourself to rely on. No one will save you. So you must show them, that even caught you are beyond their reach. You are inhuman. You are a demon.”_

_His breathing evened, heart slowing as he willed it, lifting his head to square his shoulders._

_“Yes, father.”_

Hanzo became aware before he opened his eyes. He listened to the hum of an idle electronic, birds chirping in the distance, the occasional padding of footsteps that faded away. Only when he was sure there was no presence within the immediate area did he open them.

He was draped over a plush bed covered in clean navy blue sheets. A floral painting hung over the thick oak headboard and a single lamp sat on the nearby nightstand. Lifting his head from the plush pillows he noticed the windows that flanked the bed on each side, the sheer curtains billowed silently in the faint breeze.

They were open. He looked to the door. Wide open too. Hanzo hefted himself to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, but the solid thump of feet hitting the hard floor never came.

His legs were gone, right from the knee down. Hanzo's stomach lurched and his eyes rolled back into his head at the very sight. It had been years since he has seen his legs removed. They weren't supposed to be removed, they were enhancements. Cybernetic technology twisted seamlessly from muscle to carbon fibers, nerves fashioned from hardlight and bone fashioned from aluminum. It was the same technology he had help to bring down just a year before making it scarce and incredibly expensive. The stumps were wrapped with gauze, but pink stained the ends and they ached with the beginnings of infection.

That explained the open door and windows. Hanzo wasn't going anywhere.

With a frustrated growl he grabbed at his his own hair and yanked until his scalp burned. They took his hair tie. They had taken his clothes as well, replacing it with a short silken robe that settled to his knees. It was a glossy light pink. If this is what they came up with to try and humiliate him it paled in the effect his missing legs gave.

Voices floated down the hall, grabbing his attention. Sitting upright again he fumbled around for something to have in his hands, anything. They fell on the lamp beside the bed and he wretched the cord from the wall and pulled off the lampshade. Then he schooled his breathing, his heart, his thoughts until he sat calm upon the bed, gazing expectantly at the door.

Two nurses entered the room, each pushing a wheelchair. They weren't real nurses, from the looks of the small dresses and how they spilled out of them, the tall heels, and the overdone lipstick. One chair held Masao with his usual smirk, one leg folded over a knee. A fresh bandage stretched across his purpled nose, but it didn't hinder the complacent grin he wore. The other wheelchair held Hanzo's feet.

“Oh put that down.” Masao scoffed at the lamp he held, more relaxed several feet away and out of arms reach. “I'm not going to turn you in. You should know that by now.”

Hanzo didn't move, sitting rigidly back against the pillows, the lamp settled easily within his grip. He peered at him through the loose strands of his hair. “What do you want?”

Masao hopped to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. “Currently? Dinner. I came to ask you to join me.” Hands settled on his hips, waggling his brows down at the archer. The stuffed up women in the short nurse outfits giggled behind him, throwing sultry looks.

“I don't care to eat with you.” Hanzo kept his grip tight on the lamp. Knocking Masao out would be easy enough. The girls wouldn't fight, being only decoration. Then he could...what? Hobble out on his knees? Roll out in a ratty wheelchair? Nausea threatened to erupt once again and he clenched his teeth tightly to keep the tremors at bay. He could attempt to reconnect his legs, but it would be temporary and hung on a very dependable 'if'.

“You're being rude, Hanzo.” Masao frowned. “You'll feel better with a full stomach. I even brought accommodations considering how very generous I am.” He turned to point at the other wheelchair. “Hmm? Don't worry about getting in. I also brought Adolf for that. ADOLF!” Masao's shriek made Hanzo's eye twitch and the nurses start.

The doorway filled with a hulking presence, large enough he had to turn sideways and stoop to enter. Despite the name Adolf wasn't European. He was of Asian descent, darker skin, a gleaming bald head, and hands so thick they puffed around the gold rings he wore. His pudgy face pressed tiny eyes further into permanent squints. He easily took the space of two full grown men and was carefully tucked into a tailored suit that hardly seemed to keep his bulk under fine lines and sleek edges. “Ya, boss?”

Masao batted his lashes at him. “My poor crippled friend here is in need of your help. Get him into the chair, will ya?” he gestured and quickly but seamlessly stepped away out of grabbing reach to let Adolf take his place.

Adolf chewed on something, looking to Hanzo before spitting to the carpet. He stepped forward and grabbed for the archer, who jerked aside and out of reach, smashing the ceramic lamp onto Adolf's pimple of a head. Besides several shallow cuts the action itself didn't phase the large bodyguard and he managed to snag at one of Hanzo's stumps and dragged him from the bed to shove into the chair with alarmingly little effort. A massive paw covered his chest and shoved Hanzo against the chair back, another engulfed his forearm and slammed it down to the armrest, an audible click locked his wrist into place with a common cuff. The same was done for his left arm and Hanzo settled into silent glowering as his struggles became useless.

Only then did Masao settle back down into his own wheelchair, pulling Hanzo's feet into his lap to stroke lovingly like a house cat and relax next to him. He waved his fingers at the girls and they pushed them both out of the room and down the hall.

“So.” Masao started, crossing his legs again and jiggled his foot in the air. “I have my suspicions as to why you might have showed up. I know I'm gorgeous, but that's not really why you're here. Rina swore you have been dead, gone and offed yourself is what she suspected.”

They entered a large dining room with high vaulted ceilings and littered with patterned rugs. A single long cedar table stretched the length, trays and plates set elegantly along the far end accompanied by glittering silver vases blooming with assortments of flowers. The light smell of fresh fish permeated the air. They were pushed into place, Masao at the head, Hanzo to his right. Masao slapped one of the nurses asses as they turned to leave, and they sashayed out of the room giggling. Adolf was the only one that remained, easing by a door and dabbing at the cuts on his face with a lacy handkerchief.

Grabbing for the serving spoons Masao shoveled various rice and fish onto his plate, “Not going to indulge me?” Skipping his personal utensils he shoved an entire filet into his mouth and spoke with it full. “I think I know though. You're curious! What is lil ol' Akiyama doing to be so damn successful suddenly?” He nudged Hanzo with his elbow, “Am I right?” Hanzo refused to acknowledge the man, curling his fingers around the armrests.

Masao leaned over the table and started to spoon out several flopping pieces of fish onto Hanzo's plate. “You're thinking: 'how did that smooth fucker triple in net worth in only a year?' to which I would say: 'It's all about connections, my friend.'” Having finished piling up the plate he settled his chin in his hand, smiling pleasantly at Hanzo's stubborn quiet.

“They came to me first. Offered some cheap guns. I couldn't tell you why the price was low, but damn did I make a huge turn over with them.” Masao picked up his chopsticks to shovel more rice into his mouth. “At first I had to hide what I was doing, sure they'd be pissed I was making a profit off their own product, but that wasn't the case at all. Imagine my surprise! They sold us more and more at their stupid low price and well...” He tossed them on the plate and threaded his fingers behind his head. “The rest is history.”

“Rina doesn't agree of course. Sometimes she's just a bitch, wanting all the luxury for herself.” His words hardened suddenly, anger simmered behind his spectacles. “You wouldn't understand. You were _born_ into prestigious shit. I had to _work_ for it.” And then the anger was gone, replaced with his complacent grin. “I worked hard and now I've even surpassed you, Shimada shit.”

Hanzo regarded Masao now. “Not a difficult feat. The beggars on the street have surpassed me.” 

Masao laughed, “You're a fucking liar, or the best damn looking beggar out there. Let's not even talk about those.” He pointed to Hanzo's metallic legs. “I know those cost more than my house. Or the fact that you're running around with perhaps the most wanted man in the world.” He whistled. “Good looking fellow he was. Shame he's dead. Guess he just found his match, eh? I should ask for his head to mount on my wall-”

“I wish to eat.” Hanzo announced so abruptly Masao's train of thought floundered. He chewed slower as he quickly switched tracks.

“Go on, it's not poisoned.” Masao said, gesturing to Hanzo's plate as he sat back. 

Hanzo stared at Masao then glanced down to where his fists curled too tightly beneath their cuffs, and quickly loosened his grasp. “I cannot.”

Masao's grin only widened. “You have a mouth. Eat with it. Unless...” he gasped, “You want me to feed you! Oh! I would be honored!” he laughed and grabbed for the chopsticks.

At this point Hanzo was beyond glares and settled into an unamused deadpan on a lilac that sat squarely in front of him. Even when Masao picked up a limp piece of tuna, his left hand carefully cupped underneath to catch any drops as he slowly smooshed it against Hanzo's tight lips. “Open up.” Masao sang, “Here it comes~ the airplane must land~”

After a minute of prodding Hanzo straight up growled and snapped his teeth at the offending chopsticks, breaking them off completely. Masao yelped in reaction and fell back into shrill giggles, turning the severely shortened chopsticks around in astonished delight. Hanzo turned his head to spit out the meat and the short nubs onto his plate, but Masao just grabbed for more and tried again, prodding against Hanzo's cheek as he turned away.

Disappointed, Masao set the utensils down and instead grabbed for one of the many bottles lined across the table then poured Zinfandel into a brandy glass. “You interested in buying one of my quality firearms then?” When Hanzo didn't reply again he pressed forward. “Aren't you the least bit curious about them? I can tell you a little secret.” His tongue pressed between his lips, waiting for a flicker of interest. None came, and he chuckled.

Masao gestured to Adolf. “Bring me the spindle.” Then waved him off, turning back to his guest. “Despite what you might think or heard I'm not stupid. First thing I did when I got these amazingly cheap weapons was pick them apart. You don't buy something so cheap and not expect a surprise. Usually a nasty one. But, that isn't what I came across.” He leaned back in his chair, twirling a finger. “Turns out the guns themselves are just a clever disguise. It's all about the bullets, my friend.”

Adolf returned with a small cardboard box, a pair of gloves and handed both over to Masao. Slipping on the gloves Masao carefully lifted the lid of the box and pinched at a single brass cased bullet. He held it between them, gripped between thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly. “Doesn't look like much, does it?” Just as carefully he slipped off the already separated casing to reveal the glow within.

Tubes no thicker than a strand of hair bundled together tightly, billowing from where the ties pinches them together, making it look like a length of gnarled rope. The tips frayed open in a swirl, a shot of static pulsing through the length gave the entire fixture the illusion of a pulse. The setting glowed a faint hard blue.

Hanzo was held captivate by the reveal. Masao stood the spindle up on a small mound of rice on Hanzo's plate for him to see. He settled in close, watching the archer's reaction, the faint glow dusting Hanzo's sharp features as his own voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “When I saw this I wouldn't let any of my own near those weapons. Who knows what it does. But something this extensive....” he gestured to the spindle, “This is going to be _big_.”

So Masao didn't know what it did either. Slowly pieces started to slip into place. The weapons were sold cheaply _because they_ , whoever they were, wanted Akiyama to resale them. To spread them across several countries, to hand them out into the public. They wanted a distributor and one that would take all the credit as well. Why? Why.

“I've been very good, patriotic even, to keep them out of Japan. As much as I can of course, there is always a leak or two, but I handle those swiftly.” Masao smiled. “I believe I can make one exception though.”

It wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough information, but Hanzo couldn't tear his eyes from the delicate spindle as what seemed like dust floated from the severed ends, sputtered in the air and faded to nothing. How something so fragile could pose to be so dangerous. He hardly registered Masao's gesture or Adolf's movement behind him at first, until the claustrophobic feeling of being surrounded brought him back to his senses. He whipped his head between the two, realization hitting him like a truck. “No.”

“Aren't you the least bit curious?” Masao cooed as Adolf grabbed a fistful of Hanzo's hair and yanked his head back, jabbing fat fingers at his mouth to pry it open. Hanzo thrashed in his confines, twisting away from the invading digits until his scalp burned with the wretched hair. “Because it's killing me. I won't hurt my own. _And_ I won't hurt those I protect. That's bad business.” Hanzo's jaw was dragged open and a fat thumb thrust along his molars to keep his jaws propped open. He clamped down, chewing at the thumb, he would fucking eat his god damned finger if he had to, but it was too thick and shoved too far back that he could do little more than gnaw on the appendage.

Masao delicately picked up the small rice mound the spindle was sitting on and smushed it over the glowing wires in a mock rice ball. “But you are none of those things to me, so I can do anything I want. Now, here comes the airplane~” It took several tries to shove the spindle into Hanzo's mouth and to wedge down his throat. The wheelchair clacked beneath him as he jerked within the confines, gagging instantly, his stomach convulsing and throat tightening to try and push the foreign intrusion out only to have it thrust further back down his throat until the constricting muscles accepted it.

The thumb was removed and his nose grabbed, giving him the choice to swallow or breath, an easy pick as survival kicked in. Hanzo choked, coughing violently until his chest squeezed painfully and tears welled in his eyes. The barbs on the spindle sliced it's way down through the soft flesh and the biting taste of copper accompanied every raking cough.

“Alright, get him out of here. I'm still eating and he's making a mess.” Masao settled back, peeling off his gloves with distaste. He tossed Hanzo's feet to Adolf as he waved them away. Hanzo's chair lurched into motion as he was wheeled back to his complimentary room, still coughing and bucking against his restraints. “Send the nurses back in while you're out there. I hate eating alone.”

Masao's voice faded as they pushed back down the hall, the chair nearly knocking over at one point with how hard Hanzo doubled over, coughing haggardly. Adolf kicked open the door to the guest room and snapped the cuffs open with a clank before tilting the chair and unceremoniously dumping Hanzo onto the floor. The wheelchair was then tossed with a clatter down the hall and Adolf stepped inside the room behind him, closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter without dick touching =[  
> Damn plot getting in the way


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-con/rape, body horror
> 
> I gave fair warning way in advance for this to try and filter out those not looking for these turn of events. So, if you are a gentleman, gentlewoman, triggered by this, offended by this, triggered by offense, offended by triggers, or all around sane person; do not read on. In fact, nobody should. Just skip this chapter entirely.

_"You fucked up. You fucked up real damn good this time. Not only am I down half a squad, but I had to bring Morrison into this. You hearing me? Jack 'paperwork' Morrison. Oh he's gonna have a field day with us. He may look pissed off, but he's gonna get a right chub outta kicking my ass from here to Satan's anus. And when he's done, I'm coming for you.”_

“Fuck off, Reyes.” Jesse half grumbled under his breath at no one in particular. He hadn't given a thought to his old commander in years, but since the cafe incident he seemed to have taken residence right in the front of his noggin.

_"I'm going to make sure you remember this.”_

He took a moment to rub at his temples and clear the surge of memory that pounded painfully behind his eyeballs. He already felt guilty, he didn't need a past ghost adding to it. His shoulder and leg ached, the painkillers numbing the pain but not dulling the throb, but they will function. He waited for the perimeter drone to swoop by so he could slip silently around it.

Genji had gone ahead, taking to the surrounding treetops around the large lot to find and disable what surveillance they had there. Jesse didn't doubt it would draw attention, which was why he proceeded on foot. Genji was the dive, he was merely backup, however all plans would be tossed the moment Hanzo was found.

_"I trusted you to do this one simple task.”_

“Shut UP, Reyes!” Jesse snarled louder, and thankfully he was still a distance away from the painfully neon mansion.

This 'house' was a myriad of architecture. It might have started as a Japanese structure at some point but now Greek columns rose around the walls, holding nothing but small balconies that made little sense and spanish clay shingles scaled the slanted roof. Even the gardens surrounding the hill, though carefully manicured, looked chaotic in placement. Chinese and Hindi statues guarded the walkways, fruit trees sprouted randomly around hedges and the middle of grassy expanses. And to top it off the entire structure was painted in neon orange and pinks. A decorative fashion statement some twenty years prior that didn't last long. Masao might as well have just thrown piles of money onto the lawn and surrounded it with a white picket fence if he was trying to impress the neighbors with the price tag. It was ugly. Even Jesse had enough taste to realize that. The guy was rich but severely lacked in class.

Jesse settled behind a mounted chinese statue of a horse and rider, patting at his belt for the umpteenth time. He brought extra _extra_ clips this time, not about to make the same mistake twice. Along with the flash bangs and an iron will to break necks one of this pockets held several arrowheads Genji had given him, having pulled them off several of Hanzo's horde. He had explained the sonic pulse to Jesse and that all he had to do was toss them.

So he did, around a low window, chucking it like a grenade to thump dully against the stucco and fell to the ground. At first nothing happened and Jesse felt stupid for throwing nonsense when he saw a pulse and three heat signatures revealed to be within the room.

“How's it looking?” Jesse whispered.

“Two minutes and the east side will be down.” Genji replies, static crackling over the comm.

Jesse leaned back against the cool stone, closing his eyes. That was a mistake. Instantly he was swarmed with past regrets, doubts, mishappenings, and general fuck ups. He jerked his head violently, slapping at his own cheeks to try and snap out of it. Now wasn't the time to loose his confidence and sink into self doubt.

“We're in.”

Jesse exhaled and snapped back into focus. He had a job to do. Keeping low he slid to the window and worked it open with a pocket knife, silently pushing it open. The guards were relaxing, two playing some kind of board game while another smoked and chatted on the phone. He eased in, his boots purposefully thumping on the thick carpet, causing three pairs of startled eyes to swing his way.

“Evenin' Gents.” He said with the tip of his hat.

 

* * *

 

It hurt. Sprawled out on the plush carpet Hanzo could only curl on himself, gripping at his stomach as it felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out and rip to shreds. He rolled, pushing his face into the carpeting as dry heaves racked through him again, spitting up nothing but bile tinged pink with the blood from his torn throat. It pooled around his lips and he could only turn his head away to try and escape the rancid scent.

He was dimly aware of the presence that lingered in the room, Adolf had calmly tugged off his jacket and folded it neatly on a nearby coat hanger before squeezing into a chair. He folded his large hands over his belly, Hanzo's legs tucked within the crook of his elbow as he watched Hanzo writhe in pain.

Another wave of deep set agony blossomed from his belly extending outwards to his limbs, leaving a cool trickle in it's wake all the way to his fingers and stumps. With that last flow came relief as it spread through him. There was still a lingering ache, but it lessened as it spread and became tolerable. It was enough that he stilled, laying on his side, his breathing evened and he slid his eyes closed, considering letting unconsciousness overtime him for the time.

Movement behind him chased that thought right out of his head. He couldn't see but heard the creak of the chair and the ruffling of clothing. The clank of something metallic had Hanzo glance over his shoulder, but instantly snapped forward again in shock.

Adolf had completely unbuttoned his shirt, cradling one of Hanzo's calves in his meaty fist as he licked languidly up the length of his gleaming shin. His beady eyes trained on Hanzo as he slurped at a ridge around his ankle then smacked his lips. “You stopped moving.”

Anger flushed through Hanzo. How dare he. How _dare_ he touch _his_ legs in that manner. He swallowed, tasting the bile sour on his tongue. “I am not a source for your entertainment.” Hanzo croaked out, pushing himself up enough to shoot a glare at the fat man.

Adolf merely flapped his eyes in a blink then the pudge of his cheeks stretched as his mouth pushed into a grin. “I am enjoying your feet.” He reached beneath the swell of his belly and unzipped his trousers, his penis flopped free, fat and heavy. His feet were dwarfed in his thick hands as he gripped them together with a clink and thrust himself between Hanzo's slim ankles. “They look like they should hurt, but they feel real nice.”

“If they were attached they _would_ be hurting.” Hanzo snapped back with a snarl.

Adolf laughed, clearly amused, then licked at his lips and hummed a groan. “Tell me more.”

Hanzo grit his teeth, looking away when nausea threatened through him again and he bent double, fisting at the carpet to keep himself together. The sound of wet squelching grew within the room, a steady stream that slowly increased in pace until it rang in his ears, scraping along the inside of his skull until he clapped his hands over his ears.

“Stop! Stop it! You filthy, disgusting pig!” He shouted, drowning the sound with the anger instead.

The squelching did stop, but Adolf stood and yanked the rest of his shirt open, tossing the severed legs before Hanzo where they tumbled and rolled to bump against his knee. “I've changed my mind. I don't need these.” He strode forward instead, hands out to grab for Hanzo instead.

The feet lay forgotten as Hanzo back peddled, spinning around to scamper away from the advancing bodyguard only to feel the grip on the back of his robe and he was dragged back, curled fingers dragging across the carpeting.

“Don't fucking touch me!” Hanzo roared, twisting and throwing out elbows and fists that landed, but sank uselessly into the softer flesh.

“I'm filthy?” Hanzo's hair was grabbed and he was shoved face first into the puddle of bile soaked into the carpet. “Look at the mess you created.” Adolf laughed, rubbing Hanzo's head hard enough to drag carpet burn across his cheeks and forehead. Hanzo grasped frantically at the hand fisted in his hair, nails digging into skin as he attempted to wretch the fingers free.

“You are disgusting. Look at you eat it.” More laughter as Adolf shifted and the silky robe was yanked down over Hanzo's shoulders, baring his back. The fabric caught around his elbows and pulled tightly around his arms the more he struggled, trapping them at his sides.

Weight settled across Hanzo's back, heavy enough to tame his bucking and threatened to bend ribs. He felt it, the jab of firm hot flesh between his shoulder blades, the pool of moisture dripping at the base of his neck, the steady brush of knuckles as Adolf stroked himself.

He fought against the rise of panic as it started to constrict Hanzo's breathing, more than the overbearing weight keeping him down, more than the fingers that wrapped around his throat, squeezing and yanking his head back. More than the mouth pressed to his ear that groaned wetly, “Struggle for me, Mr. Shimada.”

Struggle he did. Hanzo bucked and squirmed beneath Adolf, the fingers clamped tightly about his esophagus limited his breathing and cutting off his shouts. He struggled, knocking back against the heat until he felt the hot splatter across his neck and stained his hair. Adolf grunted his release, chuckling heavily as thick fingers smeared his spunk over Hanzo's skin, heavy drops wound along the tendons of his neck and seeped through the strands of his hair to drip upon the carpet.

“You stopped again.” Adolf released his clutch around Hanzo's throat, leaving behind wide bands of bruises. Hanzo gasped for breath. “Are you becoming compliant already?”

His answer was a sudden twist and a swift fist into his flat face. Adolf reeled backwards and Hanzo scrambled free as soon as the weight lifted. It was followed by another and another until his fist was caught, but Hanzo only continued with his left, until he felt the satisfactory crunch of cartilage beneath his knuckles and the warmth of fresh blood. When that wrist was caught he wretched his arms and screamed into the bleeding face. No words, just pure anger, rage, hatred, loathing until one resounding open palmed slap cut him off.

Stars exploded across Hanzo's vision as he sprawled backwards, shaking his head out quick but not before Adolf grabbed and twisted Hanzo's wrists over his head and slammed it against the floor hard enough to feel the grind of bones.

“Ungh, such a fighter!” Adolf only seemed elated as he hovered over Hanzo, dripping blood across his cheek. Even with a split lip and cracked nose his eyes grew wide enough to actually see the whites. “It's so fucking DELICIOUS. I'm _hard_ again.”

Hanzo spit in his face. Adolf seemed to sober then, wiped the spittle free and peered into his smeared palm. His gaze flicked up to Hanzo. “This will be all you get.” Adolf snerked and grabbed himself, stroking firmly as Hanzo attempted to flay Adolf's skin off with his eyes alone, arms tugging and straining within the firm grip. Adolf returned the glare as he finished prepping himself then plucked at the robe tie around Hanzo's waist until it fell open, the silk pooling around his stretched and bruised form.

A massive paw grabbed Hanzo firmly between the legs, yanked and squeezed too tightly to be pleasurable. Hanzo's vision blurred white and he froze where he lay. The smirk on Adolf's features settled into a frown, disappointed in the reaction. Hanzo's lips parted for a stuttered breath before Adolf twisted his grip sharply again and Hanzo bucked into movement once more, face twisted and teeth clenched in pain before he rasped just above a whisper. “Release me.” It wasn't a plead, his voice still firm enough to be a demand.

“That's not how I work, Mr. Shimada.” Hips rolled against Hanzo hard enough to scoot him across the heavy carpeting. “I will consider your request if, and only if, you beg.” The grip twisted soft flesh until Hanzo jerked with a shudder just to keep his testicles intact.

It was a lie, a blatant lie. A lie that fermented sweetly as the overbearing weight pushed his thighs apart to settle between, as the slimy tongue that ran up his sternum, as the intrusive prodding of the hard heat that prodded along the fleshy curve of his backside.

He couldn't overpower this man, not with this severe disadvantage. The dragons weren't even a presence beneath his skin. The tinge of panic started it's numbing crawl once more and this time, twisted in his grip, he couldn't stop it condensing. It shallowed his breaths and sapped at the last of his strength he had left.

A hard twist of Adolf's hand wretched a louder agonized cry from Hanzo that made his cock twitch and the larger leaned in, anticipating, staring at quivering lips for what he desired.

Too hyper aware of the hands upon him he missed the presence of a third person, missed the flutter of red, missed the glint of silver. He didn't miss the cock of the hammer. Adolf didn't either and he froze where he was hunched over Hanzo.

“I do believe you aren't actin' gentlemanly toward my friend there.” Jesse drawled without rush, the barrel of Peacekeeper pressed to the back of Adolf's skill. “You would do well to remove your hands from him.”

Adolf couldn't understand a word, but a gun to the head was translation enough and he released his hold on the archer to slowly sit back. Hanzo scrambled free as soon as the weight receded, yanking the ruined robe closed and pulled tightly, palming himself to be sure that he was still intact and breathed easy when he was.

Jesse gestured for Adolf to back away, and he did so, as he offered to give Hanzo his space to gather himself. He touched his comm and turned away from the archer instead. “I got him, upper floor, looks like a guest room. Yeah, real messed u—Hey!” Jesse shouted as Adolf had glanced over to Hanzo. “Did I say you could look at him?” Adolf's squint returned and his beady eyes snapped back to the cowboy, his lip curled back in something of a smirk.

“I don't know what yer leerin' at pal.” Jesse seethed, his carefully controlled temper flared, “But I sure as hell don't like it.” Men like these disgusted him to no end, and this man wasn't the first he's ever come across. Wouldn't be the last.

Adolf rose his rounded chin to peer up at Jesse. “Kare wa ima hanbun no otokodesu.”

Jesse shot his dick off.

His temper evened again, satisfied as Adolf wailed and grabbed for his bleeding crotch.

Hanzo whirled at the loud shot and watched as the fat penis rolled right between Jesse's feet and settle right next to the bile stain. The color drained from the skin, the form shrinking and shriveling to half the size it had been. The room capsized violently, the walls pressed in out of reach, lights flickered too yellow pushing needles through his retinas. Laughter bubbled from Hanzo's chest before he could stop it. McCree was trying so hard not to look at him, trying to offer some sliver of dignity, but it was too late for that. Years too late. He couldn't stop, it crescendoed in volume and dry cruelty before he lurched for the phallus and proceeded to plug the hole that was Adolf's gaping mouth. “Eat it, motherFUCKER EAT IT!” Adolf's face contorted, choked, eyes watered and he quickly turned purple. Hanzo didn't relent, “Subete anata ga akumma o semeru!”

Hanzo fought the force that was pulling him away. He wanted to watch him die. He had to see the light fade from Adolf's eyes, he wanted to gauge them out and feed them to Masao himself. He would tear their entire empire apart one man at a time and leave their skinned corpses behind to show....to see... Arms held him fast, wrapped tightly about his torso as the rumble of a baritone drew a fog over his senses, muting the frenzy until it started to subside completely. “He's dead, he's dead, he's dead.” Jesse repeated over and over until Hanzo stop fighting his hold.

Adolf was slumped in the corner, blood pooled between his legs, his face blue from suffocation, eyes glassy as they stared past them both to the beyond.

“It is not enough.” Hanzo's voice was haggard and it strained to push beyond a whisper.

“It never is, but it'll have to do for now. We have to go.”

“Release me.” Hanzo hissed as he shoved Jesse away as he squirmed out of his hold.

“I gotta get you out of here though.” Jesse protested, but Hanzo was already crawling to where his legs had been disregarded, grabbed at a slimy ankle, and sunk the jagged edges right into the healing flesh of his knee. Jesse gaped, “The fuck are you doing?!”

The second leg pulled a hiss from him but he didn't give pause, instead grabbed at the nearby chair. “I am walking out on two feet.” He pushed himself upright and balanced carefully, his weight sunk him further onto the impaling shards but the connection brought a faint whir back to his heels. It wouldn't last but it would have to do for now.

Jesse could only stare and slowly shake his head in disbelief, “Incredible.” He was closing in on sensory overload. Too many things happened at once and he was pretty sure nothing else at this point could shock him. “This way.”

They both rushed down the hall, Hanzo lumbering behind Jesse. The retreat was quiet, which implied little. No alarms seemed to have set off quite yet which seemed odd considering the gunshot and the screams. Unless that was something expected. The thought made Jesse shiver. He slowed before rounding the next corner. Three omnics were half jogging their direction. Easy enough pickings, a bullet to each throat had them sparking scraps.

“I'm approaching the east side again. Is there a clear shot to the car? I-” he paused as pounding sounded behind them, the thrum of many footsteps over soft carpeting. Jesse picked up the pace, throwing open all the doors they came across in the halls to hopefully split up the crowd. He found the familiar door and yanked it open, the three bodies within had been neatly arranged on the various chairs were he had previously left them.

“Three turrets set up that side. I will take them.” Genji replied before a hand slid up Jesse's arm and gripped his shoulder tightly. Hanzo was out of breath and alarmingly pale, his pace slowed and he was limping significantly. Jesse wrapped an arm around Hanzo's waist and hefted him into the room shutting the door behind them, ready to bite off any protest shot his way. None came, thankfully, and he pulled him toward the opened window.

“Hang in there, buddy. We're almost out.” Jesse released him to recline against the wall as he himself peeked out. Flood lights lit up the yard, several guards were running through the hedges, drones sped by with a high pitched wine, on alert. He spoke into the comm again. “I'm going to have to make a wild run for it. I'll need cover.”

“I'm here.” The reply came from the source itself as Genji slipped inside the room behind them. He glanced to Hanzo, but the elder avoided the look though he straighten his spine and tightened the stained robe.

Jesse turned back to the window, Peacekeeper in hand. “Still out there, Hana?”

“As if I'd leave now.” Came the exaggerated scoff. Jesse could just make out the gleam of the hover car over the farthest hedges.

“We're comin'.” McCree then turned to Hanzo and gripped his shoulder until dark eyes opened slightly and looked his way. “Can you still walk?” They slid shut again, considering the question before giving a slow shake of his head. The adrenaline rush had passed, the numbness receded leaving the hot throb coiling through his legs that churned his belly and blurred his vision. He could hardly stand as it was, each movement impaling him further down on the severed scraps.

Jesse didn't release the shoulder he held as Hanzo started to teeter forward. Quickly holstering his revolver he stooped and pulled the archer across his shoulders in a fireman's hold, one arm wrapped about a thigh, the other gripped at his bicep. Hanzo wasn't exactly a beanpole but he could handle the load for the short distance.

“I won't be fast. I'll need you-”

“Don't worry, Jesse.” Genji pushed open the window and offered him a salute. “I got your back.” Then was out the window.

Shooting followed the cyborg ninja and Jesse gave a small hop to further adjust Hanzo's weight across his shoulders. “Alley oop.” he grunted then leapt out the window.

Gravel flew, boots sliding as Jesse tumbled on the landing but kept upright. The dash was a blur. Turrets chugged somewhere over his head followed by the _tink tink tink_ of deflected bullets. He couldn't turn to look, couldn't defend himself, he simply had to trust Genji, and he trusted the ninja with his life.

The buzzing of drones whirled overhead adding harmony to the gunshots like cicadas by a highway. “Drones!” he called out, but didn't stutter in his run, trudging out of the gravel to the hardened pavement giving him better traction and he pushed through.

A stream of orange laser darts whipped through the hovering mass of drones. “I got them!” Hana cheered from her place beside the car. It was in sight now and Jesse heaved up the small hill. “Get in! Get in!” She motioned, yanking open the back door before sliding into the drivers seat. Jesse dove, throwing Hanzo into the backseat with a grunt, the archer bracing himself at the impact as limbs and faces were shoved around.

“Genj-!” Jesse turned to call for the cyborg but was nearly body slammed by the very same and shoved over the seat into the front next to Hana. “Go!”

Hana threw the gear into second, slammed the gas and released the clutch. The hovercar lurched forward with silent grace that threw every passenger backwards, but nearly fishtailed as she swerved through the lengthy driveway.

Bullets thudded against the carbon fiber as they peeled down the length then nearly scraped the asphalt with the sharp left that threw Jesse against the window as he tried to right himself within the bucket seat.

“They're still shooting at us!”

“Just keep your eyes on the road, they can't—watch out!”

“Don't tell me how to drive! I'm a pilot!”

“This is a residential area! No one's going over thirty!”

“Karera wa anata ni nani o shita nodesu ka?”

“I've done this hundreds of times!”

“Watashi ga mae ni sogu shita koto no nai nani mo.”

“Video games don't count!”

Another swerve and a narrow miss to a car threw them into oncoming traffic as Hana threw it back into third to take a corner sharply, avoiding the cross traffic of the red light.

“Maybe you should have been the get away driver and _I_ could have gone in and saved him!”

“I'd like to see you carry him out yourself.”

“I could if I had my mech! Banghaegadoeji mala!!”

“Anata wa shukkestcu shite iru.”

Hanzo bit hard into his fist as Genji yanked off the tattered legs, fresh ribbons of skin hung loose and open.

“Maybe if I was there instead this wouldn't have happened in the first place!”

“I guarantee it would have been a lot worse—the airport is East! East!”

“Sore o subayaku hikidasu!”

“Oh my god! You're sexist!

“There's the highway, left! Left! I'm not sexist!”

“Seong chabyeolijeog in dwaeji!”

Another swerve and their speed evened out into a straight shot once on the highway. The shouting settled and Jesse fell back into his seat, tugging off his hat and ran a hand through the grease trap of hair, damp from sweat. After a moment to calm his nerves he twisted to glanced into the backseat. “How you holding up?”

Genji was coated to his elbows in dark crimson, his fingers slipping against the silk shreds as he tied off Hanzo's legs. The archer himself was fighting unconsciousness, eyelids fluttering over dilated pupils that couldn't seem to focus on any one thing.

“Are there fresh medical supplies on board?” Genji asked, cursing under his breath as his too slick fingers couldn't find traction on the silk to tighten the knot efficiently. “They didn't bandage him up properly and it's infected.”

“Should be, Angela rotates them every week.” Jesse assured. He lingered, watching the two, the offer to help tingled the tip of his tongue, but it wasn't necessary and in the tight space it would be too much of a bother so he turned to settle back again.

The drive was little more than a blur of time and light behind Hanzo's eyelids. He was aware of the shouting, of the words spoken to him, but his mind simply settled to shut down despite his best efforts. One thought sunk after another into the deep well to be stirred up at later times, leaving the open vast surface of a calm pool. Without so much as a ripple.

The car settled to a stop and once again he was tussled and hoisted into arms and pulled into the stretch of night. The roar of engines rolled in the distance, different colored lights blinked across an endless expanse. A hanger loomed ahead, lit up with a flood light.

Someone came out of the carrier to meet them. He didn't know her. Why did she look concerned? His attention drifted to Hana who approached her, looking just as concerned. The cowboy pressed heavily against his left, pulling him along, his rugged features sharpened into fierce determination. His estranged brother pressed to his right radiated a practiced calm.

He wasn't like these people. So why did they come back for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up:
> 
> Our hero's head to the beach for some much needed R-n-R and some fan service bathing suit shots. Everyone has a good time.


	12. Hookers and Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied.  
> There's no beach.  
> Suffer.

The flight was ten hours. The carrier itself wasn't large, not meant to house copious amounts of anything, bodies or ammunition likewise. But it was meant for long distance and international travel given the facilities. Passenger seats grouped along the front, a rest area with tables and benches aligned the middle. The back held food and beverage storage, toilets, bunks, and a small but economic medical center.

Hanzo was settled into a medical bunk, the dispensable mattress cover being the obnoxious thin plastic sheet that crinkled each time he blinked much less shifted. The pungent scent of bleach and disinfectant made the inside of his nostrils raw, but his legs were cleaned and wrapped to the best of their abilities, staving off further infection. His phone stared up at him, cradled in the curve of his fingers, his thumb pressed heavily on the open program but didn't move or release prompting a bubble to blip open in helping the user through whatever complications they were having. Hanzo didn't notice it, his attention rested on the passing clouds as they rolled peacefully within their own sea of blue.

Messages rolled across the screen. All of them the contacts pestering him about the most recent news. Masao, being exactly who he was blabbed to anyone that would listen of his most recent find. Potentially boast to the Shimada's _and_ reject all offered payments to hand Hanzo over. He also knew Masao's pride would keep him from blurting how he lost Hanzo within the same week. Embarrassment would perhaps have him fabricate lies and ultimately lead to having to confess either his escape or having killed him. Of course skepticism would eventually overpower the lies, but that would take some time.

Time he had now.

Hanzo glanced back to the screen, scrolling through the messages, but the name he searched for didn't show. His sponsor had been silent the past couple of months. The lack of communication wasn't exactly odd, but it did niggle at his thoughts. With a single sweep of his thumb every message was deleted. Let them think he was still back there, caught and meeting his demise. He wasn't going to disprove his own capture.

The gesture in itself should have relieved the weight from his chest, but he couldn't lie to himself. Captures, recaptures, interrogations, mean mugs with the undoubted ability to double cross and betray is where he lived. That's where he thrived, was all he knew. The prospect of freedom yawned before him, a bottomless canyon howling in it's void, the bottom unseen if it was even there. Promising nothing but the whipping vertigo of free-falling. And there was Genji, peacefully floating some distance over the void, beckoning him to step off of solid ground.

A duffel bag thumped softly to his left. “I just grabbed whatever you had at the safehouse. Anything else you need will have to be purchased after we land.” Genji moved his bow case and a small backpack to lean against the foot of his bunk.

Hanzo gave a curt nod and a grunt of thanks, but didn't quite look up at Genji, instead returned to gazing at the slow roll of clouds.

The grating sound of metal dragging across plating made Hanzo twitch as Genji settled the chair next to the bunk and sat down with a clank of his own. “We are headed to Gibraltor, Spain. The watchpoint there is now our base of operations. Our best doctor flew in a month ago and should be settled enough to work on you.” Abrupt, to the point, how Hanzo liked it. Not how Genji usually spoke. “You will recover within the facilities there, though under her care it will not take long.”

By now Hanzo watched Genji, slumped forward, elbows on knees, but he stared right back at him. Hanzo opened his mouth to reply but was quickly interrupted. “And before you accuse me, no, I am not blackmailing or guilting you in into joining. I hoped to convince you, yes, but of your own free will.”

Hanzo leaned forward and snagged at the backpack, settling it in his lap and opened it. He dug around the jumble of items, fingers pushing past the ceramic gourd, the now winkled silk, the pipe, to grip tightly at a heavily creased and faded photograph. Relief cooled his scenes as he rubbed the rough pad of his thumb over the faces as he had thousands of times before.

“You will be an authorized guest during your stay.” Genji continued.

The photo was of simple grade, black and white on what once was a glossy sheen, now rubbed raw. A child no older than three was frowning with a sternness no child of that age should hold, their hair just long enough to brush over their shoulders. The frown was directed to a screaming infant held within their lap, a tiny hand settled over the infant's wrinkled brow in an attempt to soothe. “Within your facilities I should be a prisoner.”

“I'm not going to delude myself to thinking you haven't done wrong.” Genji offhandedly agreed. “Nor am I ignorant enough to think that all good men have squeaky clean pasts.”

Hanzo looked to Genji now, closing the pack and setting it aside. “I don't know where you get these notions of me being a good man.”

“You honestly think you're the only one? You think McCree racked up that much of a bounty being a good guy? You don't think I don't get shit for what I've done in Blackwatch?” Genji snorted. “You haven't sunk that far.”

“Are you two seriously fighting?” Hana yanked open the door and thrust her way inside, shouldering between Genji and Hanzo as the former stood, jostling the chair back with a metallic screech. “I _told_ you he needs rest! Come on, leave him be.” She grabbed for Genji's arm and shoved him out of the med dock, sliding the door shut behind him.

“She still clucking like a mother hen?” Jesse was on one of the benches, boots kicked up on a nearby table. His serape draped over him like a blanket. Really, Jesse didn't know why flights were always kept so cold 30,000 feet in the air.

Genji plopped down next to McCree and ran his hands over his head ending in cupping the back of his neck. “I don't know what to do anymore. I really don't know. He has changed and yet he is still exactly the same. Every time I try to speak with him on something more than the local forecast it's nothing but sarcasm or insults.”

Jesse watched him slump and wring his hands. “Ten years is a long time to spend alone. Takes time getting used to it. Takes more time getting out of the habit. I also can't imagine seeing someone you figured for dead for so long to just pop up again to be received well.”

“He's still in denial. I've tried to be gentle about it.”

“Don't seem like he's the gentle type.” Jesse hunkered down further on the flat cushion, then spoke just over the thrum of the engines, “How long did it take you?”

Genji stared down at his threaded fingers. One set felt naked, the other encased in a scaled glove. “Years.”

Jesse reached over to slap Genji's hunched back and gave a firm shove that made the ninja rock in his seat. “Though, I do have to ask, why Overwatch?”

Genji settled back then, kicking up his smaller feet to cross besides Jesse's monster boots. “I think it would do him good. Have a purpose again, put his skills to work on a productive side. It's helped me. Helped you. I think it might help him too.”

“Mighty different this time around.” Jesse eyed the med door as it opened and Hana stepped out to change towels and grabbed for some more soup. “We're the commanders now.”

Genji gave a small snort but didn't disagree.

 

An hour passed. Hana eventually slowed in her fussing over Hanzo, settled down beside Genji and dozed against his shoulder. Genji himself followed shortly, head tilted on hers as they both noisily slumbered on.

McCree slowly unwound himself from his serape and found himself tip toeing to the med bay. Halfway there he realized his was trying to sneak around and couldn't for the life of him figure out why. By the time he reached the door he was jingle jangling like Santa's reindeer. Jesse knocked once but only in warning as he let himself in.

Hanzo didn't look his direction, reclining on pillows he gazed out to the sunset as it seeped through the wash of clouds. Sitting down heavily on the chair Jesse was surprised when the squeak didn't draw the archer's attention. He didn't take Hanzo for a light sleeper and leaned forward until he saw the archer's face.

Hanzo was awake, or more exact, conscious. However his hooded eyes were glassy, unfocused, darting sharply left to right, seeing what was before him but not present at all. Jesse knew that look all too well.

“Hey, Shimada.” Jesse gripped at Hanzo's shoulder and gave a firm shake. There came no reaction at first, just a limp sway. Jesse grabbed both shoulders and tried again. “Wake up, Shimada. Hanzo.”

A jolt shot through the archer and he grasped at McCree's arms tight enough to leave bruises. Hanzo stared at him, eyes wide with alarm until the pupils receded and they seemed to focus specifically on his face.

Jesse spoke in a low tone. “Yer alright. Easy there.” not meant to startle or trigger anything further. Eventually Hanzo's gaze darted around them, orienting himself, where he was, where he was going, who he was now. Once re-situated they fell on to McCree's arms and he carefully peeled his fingers out of their vice grip.

“Forgive me.” He muttered, moving to sit himself up straighter.

“Nothing to forgive.” McCree dropped his own hands to smooth over his own knees. “Little bit worried there.”

Hanzo licked parched lips, “I usually have some sort of...of...”

“Distraction?” Jesse offered.

Hanzo nodded. “I have not found my data pad among my things.”

“Mmm, we'll get you a new one once we land. The town nearby isn't too far. I could fetch one myself.”

Hanzo peered at him, eyes narrowing, his gears turning and it made Jesse frown and backtrack what he said that might have seemed offensive. Instead the archer plucked up his phone and ejected the sims card, handing it to McCree. “Would you mind destroying this?” he said with a nod to Jesse's prosthetic arm.

Jesse took the offered chip and pinched it to splinters between his fingers.

“And this.” Hanzo turned over the phone as well.

Jesse gripped it, but flopped it over in his hands first. “Leaving it all behind?” he asked, curiously.

“For the time being.” Hanzo fell back against the pillows, running fingers through his grimy hair as he watched the phone splinter and crunch in McCree's fist. The fever was slight for now, but it sill left his face hot and his body cool, sweating despite the shivering.

“We still have three hours in the air. I could tryna offer some sort of distraction.” Jesse hummed, carefully tucking away the ruined electronics into a bag to discard later.

“Is that why you are here?” Hanzo raised his brows.

Jesse frowned, “Well, mostly came to check up and uh...” he trailed off, suddenly a bit sheepish, “Offer an apo-”

“How much do you want?”

Jesse was caught off guard by the question. “I-I beg your pardon? Want for what?”

Even with the fever and flushed cheeks Hanzo's gaze was steady if not subtly threatening. “Have you told anyone?”

Jesse blinked in confusion at first before it clicked into place. He shook his head. “Ain't my place to tell.”

“How much do you want?” Hanzo asked again.

Jesse's jaw clicked and he matched the glare with his own. “Now hold on. What do you take me for? Think I'm gonna blab about what I saw?”

“I do.”

“You do.”

“Yes.”

Jesse didn't seem to know what to say to that. He was an honorable man himself, despite the price on his head and it sure as hell didn't sit right with how he was thought otherwise. He shifted in his chair, fishing out the roach from earlier and crammed it between his teeth. He couldn't smoke in the carrier but the flavor itself was settling. “I ain't like that.”

“From my experience 'kind' and 'rich' are one and the same.”

“Startin' ta understand why Genji wanted out.”

Anger seeped into Hanzo's voice. “You are not answering the question.”

“Alright, you know what I want?” McCree pulled the butt from his teeth to point at Hanzo with the blunt tip.

Hanzo seemed to relax at the confession and folded his hands patiently as he waited for Jesse to continue.

“I want the god damned chance to apologize rightly.”

Hanzo's brows furrowed, “You are toying wi-”

“I don't want your damn money. I do right fine myself. I came in here to apologize for having you caught and I'm not leaving until you get that through that thick skull of yours.”

It was back to glares between the two before Hanzo broke first with a confused shake of his head. “What are you apologizing for exactly?”

“For getting us caught. You caught.” Jesse tugged the hat from his head and picked at a worn seam. “I'm not exactly a subtle guy, tend to stand out, picking fights. I thought maybe I was helpin' with that flamboyant gang, but guess I wasn't.”

Hanzo stared hard at him, trying to see through the bluff, to find the ulterior motive beneath, but since there was none he was left with the unsettling oddity that he was being told the truth. In all honesty he had not the first clue what to make of it. At a loss he rubbed at his eyes instead, blaming the fever on not picking up the signs he needed to. “How does half a million USD to start sound?” he offered anyway.

The chair creaked again as Jesse leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he stared down Hanzo. “I could just turn your ass in. Get me a smooth eight mill.”

There we go. This, Hanzo was accustomed to. “You can. I am defenseless.”

“Might do us all a favor seeing you offed.”

“Before the plane touches down.”

“I could throw you right into the sea.”

“And what would you do with eight million credits?”

“Spend it all on hookers and blow.”

They stared at each other.

They stared until Hanzo's lips twitched and he pressed a hand to his face to muffle the laughter. “What?”

Jesse eased back then, fighting his own grin as the tension dispersed. “You heard me. Hookers and blow.”

“You wouldn't last three hours with eight million credits worth of cocaine.”

Jesse had settled his chin on his knuckles, fanning himself with his hat as he put on airs of being absolutely serious. “I've had my tussle with it. Wouldn't be a bad way to go considering the direction I'm heading for.”

Hanzo moved his hand to his warm forehead, pretty sure the fever was making him delusional. “You do not seem the type.”

“Not now, no. I was pretty crazed in my youth though. Did some...did a lot of things.” Jesse stroked his beard in thought.

“Tell me.” Hanzo heard himself say before he even considered the thought.

That, however, drew the brightest grin from McCree. The entire cabin seemed to lighten a shade and Hanzo had to squint to look directly at him. Jesse adjusted in his seat, settling comfortably. “Buckle in. It's a long story.”

 

Genji watched from where he sat, Hana drooling on his arm beside him, mumbling something in her sleep. He watched McCree willingly speak with his brother. Watched the tension rise and fall between the two of them. He heard Hanzo laugh.

A pang of jealousy shot through his chest, surge and dissipate before he could grasp a hold at the reasoning behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone flips their shit; it's not incest.
> 
> niggle: cause slight but persistent annoyance, discomfort, or anxiety.


	13. Hookers and Blow part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: underage drug use, underage sex, underage drinking (in the US), probably other things

The night was still hot despite the sun having had set nearly three hours earlier. The heat that had soaked into the Earth poured into the stillness, warming stagnant air until it felt just as oppressive as the long days. Despite the sweat dripping down his spine Jesse kept his hat on his head and the bandanna around his neck.

There was rumors of the Argentinian mob jerry-rigging the customs bots along the American borders that lent to overland smuggling a guaranteed secure delivery that could boost their sales within the states. Unfortunately it ran right through Deadlock territory. Jesse had managed to shoot the driver of the moving semi just as it cleared the Mexican border, sending it careening off the highway and into a ditch. It took hours to retrieve nearly 1,000 kilo's of candy, but the reward was substantial.

Jesse was easily swept up in the celebrations, hollering, congratulatory headbutts, unloading a full clip at the sky. He was just happy to be a part of something and finally accepted for what he always knew he was: a genuine certified bad ass. He sold his cut of the goods the moment it fell into his hands, offering it to the next guy over for nearly three grand crash. It was the most money he's ever seen in his entire life.

As he left the warehouse for the night, ready to climb into his truck and debate either to spend the cash on some hover tires or try his luck in Vegas a lanky arm twisted around his shoulders and steered him away.

“You shooting off alone? Our own sharpshooter, fucking off?” Jeff's breath reeked of gingivitis .

Jesse wrinkled his nose. “Maybe, why? What's up?”

“Nah you ain't.” Jesse lead him further away, towards a graffitied van instead. “You're what, 24? 25?”

“Sixteen last month.”

“Ha! You look older. Alright, you're comin' with us then.”

Jesse almost soared, “I'm growing a mustache.”

“Sure ya are. Get in. We're goin' to Ricky's. He's got his shit set up. And he's got the girls already.” Jesse was shoved into the van with seven other members, grinning toothily at him, slapping his head. They lurched into motion, corridos twanged through the overtaxed speakers and a bottle of warm whiskey was passed around, spilling when Vince cracked an elbow across Durk's nose. The van swayed as the bodies bounced around him in laughter. Clutching the bottle to himself he took a swig, adding his own snickers.

'Ricky's' was little more than a double roomed house at the edge of town on a property that was more dried weeds than building. The door slid open and they poured from the van before it finished bouncing over the gravel and rolled to a stop. Jesse swept inside with the tide.

The smells hit him first, mildew, smoke, the steamy muck of body odor. He was pretty sure someone took a dump behind the TV. Jesse thumbed at his nose and pushed into the kitchen instead, grabbing an empty plastic cup and drew from one of the several kegs. It was just beer, but with the whiskey it would still burn through his empty stomach quick enough.

“Hey sixteen!” Jeff hollered over the thrum of pumping bass. Jesse pushed towards him until his arm was caught and he was jerked into a short hallway.

“Get rid of that.” Jeff slapped the beer from Jesse's hand to slosh over the threadbare carpet. “You're with us now. You Deadlock. You take care of us, we take care of you. Ya know? We'll treat you right.”

Jesse could only shrug as he was lead on. “Yeah, sure I get it.”

The music was muted behind thin walls as he was pushed into the next room, lit only by a single naked bulb, the air thick and musky with sex. Mounds of people sagged within the deep shadows, several already too far gone. The ones that recognized him barked his name in greeting.

“This is better, right here.” Jeff puffed in Jesse's ear, directing his attention to the center of the room.

She was draped over the rickety coffee table, wearing only a light shimmer of sweat and faint bruises of various sizes and age along her hips and legs. Scabs ran up her arms, hidden within the crooks of her elbows and between her fingers. She perched on her elbows, thin brunette hair twined like wires contrasting starkly against sallow skin. Her heavily painted eyes were hooded, unfocused as she sucked on a bulbous pipe.

Ricky was bent over her form, pushing glasses up his pointed nose as he carefully coaxed long thin lines of powder on her upturned ass.

Jesse stared, his dick twitched. He's seen naked women before, but not in person. His sexual experience at this point was a couple boob fondles from giggling classmates that thought him cute. Back when he was still in school.

His gawking hadn't gone unnoticed, being shoved forward by Jeff as he snickered. “I don't fucking believe it. Hey, Vanessa! You got a first timer.” Jeff slapped her thigh and the woman seemed to sway in her daze, giggling cheerfully.

“I-I'm not!” Jesse stuttered, his cheeks flushing in a rush of inadequacy.

“S'alright, sugar.” Vanessa turned to seek out Jesse in the blur of movements, eyes glassy and bloodshot. “I'll take good care of you.” She smiled. Yellow teeth framed by plush, red lips.

“Stop moving.” Ricky grumbled and slapped her back to keep her still then returned to his careful separation. He grumbled about skin being the worst place to properly cut and something about how this was bullshit being eighty percent, more like twenty-five.

Jesse was hesitant, his pants tightening uncomfortably, but his stomach rolled in contradiction. A hand squeezed the back of his neck. “Alright, sixteen. Since you're new I'll give you the tour.”

Jeff was already pushing his own pants down his hips, shuffling behind Vanessa's bent form and kicked her legs further apart. He grabbed for the old rolled dollar handed to him, bent and sniffed up a row. It was a mess, the powder sticking to her skin and smearing in the sweat. But this wasn't about coke, or girls or any of that. This was about the image, that's all that mattered. Jeff tossed back his head in a loud whoop, slapped her ass and thrust right in. Vanessa hardly twitched, rolling her head back, enjoying the buzz more than being plowed. Somewhere in the back of Jesse's head he wondered if she even felt it.

When Jess finished and stumbled away Jesse remained rooted, unable to move forward or back.

“Come on, sixteen! Come on!” Jeff hollered at Jesse. Several shouts came from the molding shadows, more of the boys and their whores calling their encouragements.

“Fuck her, boy!”

“Vanessa takes all you virgins.”

“What're you, queer?”

Hands pushed Jesse forward, the chanting around him swirled and convulsed into a single steady heartbeat. The bulb swayed, the shadows laughed, lurching to taunt Jesse. He couldn't stop staring at her, at the moisture as it seeped from between her lips and dribbled along the thin skin of her inner thigh.

_This is it. This is your time. This is what you've wanted all along, wasn't it?_

Jesse's trembling hands worked his belt, pulling them open with a grading of his zipper. Once line of coke was more haphazardly shoved into a pile than an actual line. That's the one.

He closed his eyes and swallowed.

More powder mashed around his nostrils than actually got inside his nose, but the amount was enough to kick his adrenaline into overdrive and could send his fist through drywall.

Once inside Vanessa instincts took over and the vigor of youth had him finished in three swift pumps. Laughter followed him out, tripping over the tangle of his jeans around his knees.

For an hour Jesse was a god among men. Nobody else agreed with him. After starting two fights, threatened to shoot four others, and tossing Durk clear through the front window Jesse was all but dragged to the back porch and chucked into the overgrown weeds to chill the fuck out.

This is what it was, what it meant to be. He was a man now, this is what he is a part of. This is what he was going to do from now on.

The warm night pressed around him in the mock of a hug. Cold stars winked next to the bright desert moon with an omnipresent, nonjudgmental glow. Genuine certified bad ass. This couldn't be that back, he figured. Even if he was left shivering and empty of something he had no name for, sagging against a rickety fence.

The grass swished behind him as Vanessa picked her way through the dandelions, her pipe in hand. She stopped by the fence several feet down and leaned against it, swishing a Kleenex around the bit.

She glanced to Jesse before spitting into the bowl and with an oddly delicate touch, cleaned it. “Don't look too disappointed. I know what yer thinkin'. 'Shoulda been a pretty farmer's daughter'.” She cackled. The movement shook a breast free from her robe, sagging full against her ribs. Jesse didn't look, didn't want to see it mottled with purple and yellow bruises. “But lemme tell ya, we are all farmer's daughters.”

“Shut up, bitch.” Jesse tried to sneer. What great bravado he had earlier had run completely dry and to his ears all he heard now was weak voice cracking mewling.

Vanessa only laughed louder, a croak more like, that turned to deep lung coughing. “Boy. You sound stupid. Look stupid too. Think you're the first kid I've taken? Nah. They come. They always come, lookin' for glory or some horseshit like that. Always die. Die or grow old enough to find new kids.”

Jesse sank into the grass, forehead pressed to a splintered post. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't have to hear it.

“You die by what you live. That's what my daddy always said. He died to a tractor tire blowing out. Me? Gonna die by this junk.” She tapped the pipe on the broken fence. “I'm thinkin' you're gonna die by that.” She pointed to the pistol shoved halfway down his pant leg.

“Can't. I'm the best shot north of the border.”

“Nuh uh.” The robe fluttered, catching on the weeds as she leaned over Jesse. “Ain't what I'm sayin'. You won't be with your buddies. And it won't come from behind like a coward. Nooo. They will be right in front, just like me to you.” Her stringy hair slipped from her shoulder, slapping Jesse on the shoulder. “You will be lookin' right at them. Maybe even know them.”

Jesse sneered again, shifting uncomfortably, but couldn't look away.

“You'll see it coming. Right before you. And they'll getcha.” She touched two fingers between his brows in the mock gesture of a gun. “Right between those puppy dog eyes of yours.”

_Bang_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I wake up in the morning, sit down to a blank piece of paper, and think to myself 'what could I possibly write that would drive people away?'
> 
> Every name mentioned here is one of my co-workers and specifically my boss wanted to be the hooker. They were actually quite thrilled being coke dealers and whores.


	14. Hell

Jesse woke.

He grunted, rolling over to slap at the nightstand and find the flickering data comm, hitting it several times until the correct button was punched and and numbers appeared. 8:23am. Jesse rolled back against the blankets he hadn't bothered to turn down before just falling in the night before. Wasn't a bad hour at least.

With a groan and the thought of a much needed reprieve of a shower he stumbled to the bathroom and pushed through the usual morning tasks.

When they had touched down the night before McCree had spent an hour making sure their guest was carefully tucked away, unloading the cargo and aiding Winston in welcoming Hana Song; aka D.vA, to the Overwatch team. She had nearly teared at being received, giving the big Gorilla a hug as well as their pilot, Lena.

Jesse had no doubts she could slip easily into the Overwatch workings, chatting happily with the few, but talented agents. He would give his full report on the girl to both Winston and Lena today, but really it was just all formalities at this point. They weren't going to turn her away.

He shuffled into the the dining hall in sweats and a tank, letting his hair and beard drip dry before attempting to tame the wild mess with a pass of a comb. The coffee pot was filled and brewing while he dug sleepy dust out of his eye when Hana rushed into the hall looking pissed as hell.

“There's the lady of the hour.” McCree attempted, not really sure how she could be upset so soon.

Hana spotted him and waved her arms wildly. “Mr. McCree! McCree!”

“What can I do ya for, little lady?”

“Don't call me that.” She snapped, “I'm not little and I'm not a lady. Your doctor is _mean_. She won't work on him.”

Jesse's brows furrowed as his sleep addled brain tried to process. “What now? Work on who?”

“On Hanzo!” Hana huffed, crossing her arms.

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Jesse frowned. That didn't sound like Angela. “She said that?”

“Well...no, not exactly. I heard her and Genji arguing in the hall. She doesn't sound too happy and Genji seems like he's trying to convince her.”

Jesse poured his coffee, adding just a dollop of cream to lighten the color and ease the bitter sting. For some reason it hadn't had occurred to him that Angela would have some scruples with the notion. “Angela isn't mean. It's not in her nature.” He said absently, his confidence in the statement severely lacking.

He stared down at his coffee. Jesse had never understood her to refuse help to anyone, but then again he's never seen her in such a position either. Worrying the inside of his cheek he decided and reached for a second mug, filling it with the fresh coffee and doused it with cream and sugar until the blackness was nearly bleached out completely.

“You think so? Cause right now she sounds heartless.” Hana scowled.

“Now hold on. You gotta remember she's spent years putting Genji together. If anything she probably cares too much and just tryna protect him from further harm from that reformed murd--” Jesse stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and inhaled steadily. It was easy to resort back to anger here, in the familiarity of the compound. Especially when defending an old friend. “..from his brother.”

Hana fell silent at that, moving to nibble at a thumbnail. “I...I know.” she muttered softly. “But Genji thinks he deserves a second chance and I'm with him.”

Jesse watched the emotions war over her open face, mirroring his own hidden ones. Perhaps Hanzo did deserve a second chance, but he had caught the glimpse that perhaps Hanzo didn't want a second chance and that just made things that much more complicated.

Jesse picked up both mugs, “I'll talk to her.”

Hana brightened. “Will you?”

He gestured with the slosh of the sugared bean water. “Lead on.”

The med bay was up and running, free of the cobwebs and lingering scent of stale air. Now it smelled strictly of bleach and disinfectant with a hint of synthetic lemon. It occupied half a wing, the other half housed rooms for recovery and observation. A starch white hall lead to the sound of hushed tones and sure enough Genji and Angela's voices became more distinguished.

Jesse slowed before rounding the corner, not exactly wanting to dive in with no life vest. Angela was an angel and one that could be unmerciful if approached half cocked.

“I left a camp of HIV positive children to come back here and aid the world and _this_ is how I'm first received?”

“Angela, please. Let us leave the past where it is and move-”

“The past! I spent _years_ putting you back together. The first six months alone was a constant scare whether you would simply live or not. Don't you dare tell me to simply 'let go' like we're talking about an ex-boyfriend.”

Genji's back was to Jesse and Hana and Jesse could see the rigid way he stood. One hand clutched his faceplate as it dangled by his hip. Angela herself wore her typical lab coat over her dress suit, hair tied back in a modest tail. Strictly professional. The poor boy was floundering.

Genji's shoulders slumped as he seemed at a loss. Jesse took that moment to intervene. 

“Mornin', doc. Genji.” He sauntered forward to join the two while Hana remained back and hidden, choosing wisely just to observe. Genji was quick to click the faceplate into place before turning to greet the newcomer.

“Good morning, Jesse.” he offered plainly if not sorrowfully.

Angela's anger simmered as soon as Jesse pushed the warm mug into her hand and she took a tentative sip, peering over the lip of the mug at the cowboy. “Good morning.” She offered after the creamy burn. “Are you here to vouch for the infamous brother as well, Jesse?”

Genji straightened up, worry written across his shoulders.

Jesse furrowed his brows as if this was the first time he considered the topic this morning, then lifted his shoulders in an afterthought. “Sure. I'll vouch for him.”

“You think he deserves a second chance?” Angela pressed.

“Do I think so? Well I'll tell ya. The guy's a righteous dickhole. That's what I think.” Jesse raised his chin, peering down at Angela with a crows feet framed squint.

Angela didn't look pleased, nor did she displeased. She stared at Jesse, knowing that squint very well. Genji, on the other hand, snapped his head up and was about to protest until Jesse held up his hand to let him continue.

“But that doesn't matter. Everyone deserves a second chance. Not right to condemn someone without the offer of redeeming themselves.”

The moment hung in the air, wise words from a condemned man himself. Until he nudged Genji with an elbow. “I get that right?”

Genji shrugged. “Close enough.”

“You're both ganging up on me. You always do.” Angela's stern facade melted as the curve of well defined lips slipped into an upward turn, quickly hidden back behind the mug.

Genji was quick to react at the small opening and crowded beside her, slipping his arms around her small waist in a hug. “Did I mention you're the prettiest, most talented, smartest doctor there ever was?”

Angela's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what he was doing. But she didn't stop him. Not quite yet. “Not nearly enough.”

Until Jesse jumped in as well, cooing and wrapping both of the smaller bodies in a big hug. “Not to mention how kind and caring and thoughtful and-”

“Alright, alright!” Angela practically squeaked smashed between the two, ducking out of both their grips, leaving the two hugging each other in her absence. “I'll do it.” She cupped the mug protectively. “After all, I put together one Shimada. I can certainly fix a second. However, I'm putting you two responsible for him. Understood?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Both Genji and Jesse crowed, arms draped over each others shoulders, Jesse saluting with his own mug.

Angela smoothed her coat, “Oh, and Genji. Speak with your Shimbali friend for me. I am going to assign your brother some counseling. Perhaps your 'master' will do him some good as well.”

Genji dipped his head in a nod and Angela punched in her code for her office. “I will keep you updated on my progress, Genji.” She offered before the doors slid closed behind her.

Jesse thumped Genji on the back in triumph, but the cyborg slapped a hand to his head with a groan.

“He's not going to like that part.”

“Ain't so bad. You jus' talk and they jus' listen.” Jesse attempted to console.

“You really think he will talk? Besides, the Shimbali are omnic. My Master is no different.”

Jesse rose a brow. “So?”

“He hates omnics.”

“Ooooh....” Jesse frowned at the blank wall, knowing Angela and Hanzo were both behind it, then turned suddenly to look over Genji, realization of exactly how complicated their relationship was fully struck him. “....oooh.”

“Yeah.” Genji sighed.

Jesse hated seeing his friend like this. It really was none of his business what happened between the two of them, only they could repair the disaster that was their brotherhood and Jesse was rather good at minding his own business. Out there, in the open world where there was room. Inside the watchpoint around these people nearly 24/7 was a slightly different story.

He sipped at his coffee thoughtfully. Not like he wasn't being nosy already. Not on purpose, he reminded himself. The elder had drawn his attention whether he wanted to admit so or not. Why was still very much unclear.

McCree curled his mechanical fingers, staring down at the appendage. “And to think, all this time his despise and hatred I thought he had for me was actually just him talking to my arm. Otherwise I'm an alright guy.” he snerked.

Genji half snorted into weak laughter. “You're stupid.”

 

* * *

 

Warm as Angela was she understood the need to slip into cold professionalism. It by no means was to ever make a patient feel uncomfortable, but actually the reverse, to keep herself in check. She's seen more preventative innocent death and patched up more enemies of the people that would make any sane person want to just lose it. It was no more than protection for herself, keeping emotions carefully tucked away, untouchable by horrific scenarios. A sobbing surgeon was not useful to anyone.

She dreaded meeting Hanzo, not from his reaction or overreactions he might have, but from her own. However, he greeted her stern professionalism with his own and their conversations were little more than brief explanations, firm facts, and hard stares that didn't quite ever meet. By the end of her evaluation Angela realized she felt relief and being in the same room as Genji's murderer wasn't as painful as it could have been.

That didn't help her impression that he was not a cold-hearted son of a bitch, though.

She rolled over to his bedside on the small stool and tapped the datapad to open a holovid showing a 3D render of his legs. “You've lost muscle around the knee here. The patella will not have to be replaced, but I will have to start the transistors higher up on the femur than you previously had.”

Hanzo nodded, obviously not pleased, but not about to throw blame anywhere else but where it belonged: squarely on his shoulders.

“The operation will take about ten hours in total. Physical therapy should be no more than four weeks depending how well the tissue receives the transitions.” The rotating image switched to one of muscles and tendons individually attaching to their fake components.

“Dr. Ziegler.” Hanzo gently interrupted.

“Yes, Mr. Shimada?” Angela leaned back in her seat.

Hanzo hadn't really wanted to speak his previous predicament, much less converse about it to the very same doctor that had worked on Genji. She hid it well, but he was finely tuned to how hatred rippled beneath the surface. “When I was there they had me...swallow something. I do no know what it was though. Samples have been shipped in for your working engineer to examine.”

Angela blinked at him then pulled down the holovid to look through her tests and charts. “I have not come across any foreign objects, though I can do several more scans to be sure. Our engineer, Torbjorn Lindholm, hadn't returned from Sweden. It was swallowed, you said?”

Hanzo nodded.

“Have you had any bowel movements between then and now?”

He considered then nodded again. “I have.”

“A good chance the object passed through unharmed. As I said, though, I will give you a full body examination to make sure.”

Hanzo settled stiffly back against the thin pillow. “Thank you.”

Angela glanced up from the datapad, apparently not having expected the gratitude. She studied him as he closed his eyes, trying to find the sarcasm or the half-hearted smirk or anything that would defect the sincerity behind the words. She found none. He simply looked fatigued. She glanced back down to the datapad, flicking the stylus through several charts, clearing them.

“You're welcome.”

 

* * *

 

The operation was finished in eight hours with few complications. Angela confirmed Hanzo would make a full recovery and even allowed Hana to sit in while they waited for the sedative to wear off. Genji paced around in the waiting room, debating whether he should be present or if that was even necessary. Making up his mind he trotted down the hall to room 3 and slipped through the door.

The room was relatively dark, the shades pulled and curtains drawn. The single bed sat in the middle of the small room, an IV drip strapped to the back of Hanzo's hand as he he slept, oblivious to his surroundings. Hana sat cross legged in one of the chairs she pulled alongside the bed, a bag of seaweed chips in her lap as brightly colored light from the handheld washed out her face. When Genji entered she waggled a wave and beckoned him over.

“Still out, eh.” Genji crouched by her chair, leaning against the armrest.

Hana squinted at her screen then scoffed, having lost the battle, if the sinking music was any indication, before snapping the the handheld closed. “Yeah, probably another hour or so.”

“Think he'd be pissed if he woke up with my nuts on his face?”

“EEWWW! Genji!” Hana whisper shrieked and pummeled the cyborgs shoulder with her fists. “Don't be gross! Ew!!”

Genji threw up his arms in defense, snickering at her squeals until she felt he was sufficiently beat up. “You're certainly hellbent on protecting him.”

Hana gave one last smack to his helm and tossed her hair over a shoulder. “Guess my maternal instincts are kicking in.” She sighed, leaning her elbows on the edge of the bed, making it dip slightly. Genji followed suit, crossing his arms on the plush mattress.

“He's twice your age, you know.”

Hana scowled at Genji. “It's perfectly normal to find an older, more _mature_ man attractive. You act like I'm the first girl to think so.”

“Man, have I heard that one a thousand times.” Genji snorted. He had always assumed it was a ploy to try and change him, but he knew what the girls really liked.

At his height Genji was the most sought after bachelor in Hanamura. Hell, in all southern Japan. Flocks of girls vied for his attention, all shapes and personalities and he knew how to charm them all. Emo, skater, Lolita, didn't matter. They eventually fell to his boyish charm and tight abs, swayed by a clever word or brash wink.

Until, one day, it was gone.

“It's 'cause it's true.” Hana rolled her eyes at him in a 'you wouldn't understand' gesture.

When she turned back to Hanzo her face softened to admiration. Fingertips eased the hard crease between his brows, smoothing the skin until it relaxed and in his slumber Hanzo turned into the touch, unconsciously seeking the warmth until his cheek settled against her palm.

Genji's chest felt tight.

He could still charm the socks off of anyone, slip beneath defenses with a suave word, but it didn't quite have the same effect anymore. Despite what anyone would ever say physical attraction played a large roll in the effect. Something he lacked now, taken from him.

Hana smiled bashfully, running her thumb across Hanzo's cheek in soothing circles. When was the last time Genji was touched like that? If Genji had a body would she have admired him instead?

Genji winced, rubbing at his breastplate. It felt itchy.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair. He used to have them all in the palm of his hand. Him, not the first born, not even when Hanzo was leader and should have had their eyes, but Genji had the charisma Hanzo simply did not and he had used it in full force.

But now, here was Hanzo, his brother, his betrayer, able to have what Genji could no longer.

Genji quickly shook his head trying to clear it. No. These were old feelings. Old thoughts he had extinguished years ago. He had made peace with who he is now. So why was it hard to breath?

_What more would Hanzo take? ___

__Hana glanced up curiously as Genji stumbled away from the bed. He only offered a laugh and the mention of being overdue for maintenance before he rushed out of the room._ _

__He didn't stop running until he slammed the panel to shut his own door behind him, grabbing and chucking items across the floor until he found the datapad he sought, nearly cracking the screen to send a call._ _

__He pulled his faceplate off, throwing it aside when the line picked up and Zenyatta's serene face flickered into view._ _

__“Ah, Genji. Greetings.” The omnic paused as he was only met with heavy wheezing. “My student, something has upset you.”_ _

__“Master.” Genji swallowed thickly, could hardly choke out the words. “I think I have made a mistake.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _shrugs_


	15. Repetition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess I'm writing a novel.

“The final report from Helix Security announced to the public the containment of the god program; 'Anubis', with several casualties.”

“They had said they contained it before hand. What brought out the change?”

“That is what concerns me.” Winston scrubbed at his flat chin in thought. “We have no legal rights to ask for their intel reports, only leaving us with what is given to the media.”

“That's always a load of horseshit.” McCree tacked on. “Why not speak with them directly? They have already shown their support of our return.”

Lena shook her head. “Their support, yes, but working alongside an illegal organization won't exactly put them in good light with the Egyptian or any government for that matter. Even the few funds they offered had to be done underhandedly. Which mostly leave them to just cheer us on with morale support.”

“Then make an unofficial visit. Fareeha's always supported Overwatch. I'm sure if asked she'll offer what we need to know.”

“Are you volunteering, McCree?” Winston's brows rose as he peered over the tiny glasses at the cowboy.

Jesse should have seen that coming, but he still blinked in surprise. “I, um, I guess. If I'm not needed elsewhere.” He shrugged and settled back in his seat. Hopefully he could simply call Fareeha directly and save himself a whole trip just for a chat.

The conference room was small for the six of them to sit comfortably. The old table remained but chairs had to be wheeled in from different departments. Winston used his tire, Angela her desk chair, and Reinhardt hauled in an entire couch to settle on. No one batted an eye at the gesture nor did they comment as he dozed through most of the meeting.

Jesse glanced to Genji beside him who had been uncharacteristically quiet. The cyborg was slunk down in his own folded chair, carefully holding his head on his fingertips with the delicacy one did while nursing a headache. Jesse frowned at the obvious distress, assuming the tension between the brothers had only escalated. There was no secret that the two were stiff, but he wasn't exactly sure how the older would react being pulled out of his element and thrust into Genji's.

“Good. Then that's settled.” Winston cheerfully gathered his papers and tapped them into a neat pile. “Onto the next topic.”

“I have to intervene here.” Angela spoke up then pulled her briefcase onto the table and started to root through it. “As you all know I have undergone a procedure to restore the legs of one Hanzo Shimada.”

Heads around the table nodded with various amounts of enthusiasm.

“However he told me something that lead to a discovery.” Angela found what she was looking for and withdrew a sealed beaker filled with what looked like a dirty white powder. “If he hadn't been insistent on looking I would have missed it completely.”

Everyone leaned forward to try and decider exactly what it was they were being shown, until Lena piped up, “What is it?”

Angela set the tube down on the center of the table. “They're nanobots. I've spent most the morning extracting them from his spinal cord.”

McCree sat up straighter. “How did they get there?” he asked with concerned urgency.

“He told me during his capture they had made him swallow something. He called it a 'spindel' if that means anything to you. He claims it was the inner workings of bullets he and Genji had been tracking down.”

During the conversation Genji had also sat up and paid attention. “We don't know what was in the bullets or what it could do. We did ship several boxes of what we gathered to Gibraltar for Torbjorn to examine.”

“I think you would be better to look at these.” Angela spoke to Winston, who leaned forward and picked up the beaker with a soft tenderness seemingly impossible from the sheer size of his fingers.

“Has the removal altered him in any way?” Winston asked.

Angela shook her head. “Athena scanned them herself and they appear to be dormant, which is why I missed them completely in the first place and also why the extraction was easy, albeit tedious.”

“Do you suspect Hanzo Shimada to be of any threat concerning this discovery?” Winston continued. To him and the rest of the occupants in the room it was a valid question, one of security and concern for the safety of the people on base. They didn't need a repeat of the LaCroix incident after all. But to Genji it was nearly condemning. Jesse heard the faint intake of breath from him.

But Angela shook her head. “I've managed to remove them all. If anything should happen from this moment on you have my word as a licensed bioengineer that he does so with a clear state of mind.”

“I am sorry to interrupt.” Athena pinged on, her calm voice filtering through the conference room in it's soothing manner. “The patient in observation room three has deactivated my sensories within. I am no longer able to observe them.”

All eyes turned to face Genji, all except for Angela, who glared at McCree knowingly. Room three was Hanzo's room. Genji stiffened under the silent frowns and was about to rise when Jesse stood instead. “Alright, I'll check on him. He still in his room, Athena?”

“Yes. There has been no movement in the hall outside the room or window.”

Jesse patted Genji's shoulder. “I got this one. Take something for your head.”

Genji only nodded weakly at him and settled back into the chair with a sigh.

Jesse didn't exactly hurry to the medical wing, but he did set a quick pace that had him before room three within sixty seconds. Athena didn't give any alarm, but he did find himself starting to worry. Had he hurt himself? Was he trying to escape? Was he suicidal? The last thought had him knocking on the door loudly. “Shimada?” he called, “You alright in there?”

Surprisingly the voice that replied wasn't hesitant or upset in the least. “The door is open.”

McCree took that as an invitation to enter. “Everything alright in here?” he asked, pushing it open. “Athena told us that she was kicked out.” He stepped in and glanced around quickly.

Nothing seemed out of place. No broken furniture or items strewn about. There was no show of an upset or violence at all. Even the bed was well kept despite being occupied.

Hanzo sat along the edge of it, calmly gathering the rough fringes of his hair into the typical stout tail he usually had it in, a hair tie pressed between his lips. The robe he wore was of a deep navy that seemed to punctuate the pale skin as the loose sleeves slipped to his elbows with his arms raised. Unfortunately the color also seemed to enhance the thick purple bands of bruising around his neck. One leg dangled over the side of the bed, the long subtle curve of his shin ended in a single point as the tip of his pointed toes brushed at the floor. Another odd poise he had that Jesse found fairly ironic with the man, if he was even conscious of the fact at all.

“It was.” Hanzo confirmed, speaking around the hair tie before stretching it between his fingers and wrapped the tail in place. “I do not care for the presence of an AI in my personal quarters.”

A spark by Jesse's elbow drew his attention to Athena's panel by the door's entrance that he hadn't noticed yet. A clipboard was lodged halfway through the panel. Lights flickered across the spider webbed screen attempting to settle the static into Athena's signature logo.

Jesse lept backwards, grabbing at his hat. “What the hell! Holy sh-why did you break that?!”

“I had asked for it to leave. It refused.” Hanzo answered dryly, trying to smooth back the tufts that insisted at poking out at his ears.

“This is an _observation_ room. She's _supposed_ to keep an eye on you!” Jesse snapped back, his hat shoved aside to press his palm to his forehead in exasperation. “Angela's gonna have my ass.”

“Not by an AI. I am concerned there is one on this base at all. Have none of you learned anything from the crisis?”

“She's _fine_ , practically hack proof, a well kept secret. You have nothing to worry about from her.”

“No?” Hanzo's calm was slowly devolving into another accusing glare. “Is this where you tell me she's more human than I am? That she has feelings and a soul mate as well? Is that why this one insists on mocking me?”

Jesse snorted. “Mock you? I find that hard to believe.” Then again McCree hadn't ever heard of Angela refusing aid to anyone either. Seemed that Hanzo brought out the worst in everyone.

“Do you? Honestly?” Hanzo knew he had been thrown into the lions den. Genji would not have thought about it, knowing his brother rarely thought anything through, so it ruffled more than feathers that anyone would think he wouldn't know of the reactions he'd create just by being present.

Jesse shook his head in disbelief, settling his hands on his waist. “Yes, honestly. Athena's been with us for years and years. We've never had a problem with her. Technical or otherwise.”

“So you trust it unconditionally? No forethought? Even if it insists to have befriended both of my legs and inquired to call them Abbott and Costello?”

Jesse flicked the clipboard with a fingertip and it dislodged, falling free with a clatter among the broken shards on the floor, hoping to save some face from the future of Angela's fury when Hanzo's explanation halted him completely. “Come again?”

Hanzo crossed his arms firmly over his chest. “I am not repeating myself.” his scowl tightened.

Jesse blinked slowly, lips twisting to try and keep the frustration in place, but it was dissolving quickly and he had to press his fist to his mouth and bite on his knuckles as giggles threatened to seep around his fingers. “Abbott....and hahaha....Costello?”

“This is not a laughing matter, McCree.” Hanzo's glare turned on full force as Jesse just lost it at that and doubled over with a howl of laughter.

He tried to stop, he really did, but the more he tried the funnier it became and Hanzo's reaction only spurned it on further. He was still clutching at his knees, as Jesse smeared the tears from his eyes, his laughter dying to wheezes when he heard the bed creak and the tap of soles as Hanzo wobbled onto his feet. “I gotta...hehehe...tell Genji about...hahaha...about this!”

“I am not surprised my mockery amuses you.” Hanzo grumbled, taking a moment for his balance to calibrate.

Jesse just couldn't help himself. “Which one's Abbott?”

“Stay where you are. I am coming to strangle you.” Hanzo's brows furrowed in concentration as he took a tentative step toward. Jesse, already in deep shit dug a little further down and threw his arms open, beckoning Hanzo forward with the fattest grin like a father encouraging his child to take their first step.

Hanzo took one hesitant step forward, the second was more stable as well as the third, his own arms lifted just enough to keep balance as he beelined toward the cowboy. Jesse's encouragements faltered some as Hanzo neared, his toothy grin falling when the archer reached to grab at Jesse's outstretched arms. It faded completely when Hanzo pulled himself into Jesse's space, straightening before him with an intake of breath that nearly had Hanzo's swelling chest brush against Jesse's own. Callused hands slid up over Jesse's shoulders and settled flatly on his chest.

One half second. That's all it was. The sun brightened the cold medical room into something warm, the birds chirped sweetly through the window, the wind brought in a stirring of salty sea air, just for him. One half second of Hanzo leaning on his chest and Jesse was wondering what they were going to name their dog on their little six acre slice of paradise.

Half a second before the hands fisted in his flannel shirt and shoved Jesse aside with embarrassing ease. “Move.”

Hanzo pushed open the door and strode out with hardly even a limp. Seemed Hanzo recovered enough to walk within a few steps.

“Wait, where you going?” Jesse was back on his feet and chasing after Hanzo's retreating form, his recovery taking a few more steps before his breath evened again.

“I am _going_ to collect my things. I am _going_ to speak with Genji, and then I am _going_ to leave.” Hanzo had no idea where he was or where he was heading, deciding instead to follow the twists of halls and turns instead of simply asking the cowboy for directions. Where he ended up looked something akin to a mess hall. His stomach knotted in a firm reminder. “But first, I am going to eat solid food.”

Jesse tugged off his hat and threaded fingers through his hair with a sigh, continuing to follow the archer into the kitchen. “You are under Angela's care and she won't let you leave until the recovery has finished.”

“I am sure she will not mind my sudden absence.” Hanzo said, pulling open the industrial sized fridge and started to rummage through the various containers, popping open the lid and sniffing at the contents.

Jesse eased a hip along the counter, “Your ability to show gratitude is astounding.” he chided dryly.

“I offered to pay for services rendered.” Hanzo fired back, pushing aside offending smelling Tupperware until he found one satisfactory enough. “Like you she refused. It seems your organization runs on sunshine and smiles so I will depart knowing your funds are set, without my assistance, for the foreseeable future.” The fridge door was slammed shut to punctuate his assessment, “My conscious is clear.”

Jesse watched him rattle through drawers until he found a fork then settle half perched on a tall stool to dig into whoever's leftovers he had just stolen. The first bite had Hanzo scrunch his nose, in what Jesse could only consider cute, and further examine the contents. Instead he gripped the counter until his knuckles grew white. “Is it?”

Dark eyes found his, narrowed in a warning how he was skating on thin ice if he followed that train of thought.

Ever the risk taker, Jesse bulldozed over it. “You have four weeks of downtime. No one's after you. Even if they were they can't get in here. Why not take the time to work things out?”

Anger was expectant, fury and rage flung at him in the typical defensive manner. And he did, for the most part, receive the glare that could spoil honey, but it flicked down to the cold mash of food and for the briefest moment Jesse caught the first glimpse of hidden despair.

Fork pongs mashed at the refried beans before Hanzo was reminded he needed the sustenance and took another slow bite. “Genji is home here. He will stay and I will leave. That is all there is to it.”

So there was a heart, beneath all the fire and ice. Jesse knew already, the way one's gut seemed to be more perceptive than the eyes. Now was the first time he had seen any evidence of it; a heart that seemed to refuse it's own existence. Jesse pulled up his own stool and sat opposite the archer, grabbing one of the apples from the neglected fruit bowl. “Sure that's what he wants?”

The room fell silent as Hanzo gave no reply and the two of them ate quietly for several strained minutes.

“Hana will miss you. She seems to like you.” Jesse broke the silence, not quite changing the topic but relaxing the tension of it.

Hanzo kept his head bowed over his food, but swallowed easier without the lump in his throat. “I have noticed.”

“Kinda envious myself. She's awful cute.” Jesse smirked, the subject light as he carved the apple with his teeth.

A dark brow arched before the corner of Hanzo's mouth curled in a distant smile. “It is flattering.” Then he chuckled softly, almost embarrassed by the fact itself. “Makes me feel young again.”

 

***

 

It had only taken fourteen redirects, three fake IP addresses and Athena's coaxing of certain military programs just to have Jesse talk on screen with the now Captain Fareeha Amari.

“You could have just called me.” Fareeha snickered at Jesse's frustration.

“My phone is blocked too. Being on Athena's private server. Makes me wonder how public the recall actually is.” Jesse settled in his beanbag chair comfortably with a sigh.

“So you're using that as an excuse to why you haven't bothered to call in seven years?” She quirked a brow.

“Flying under the radar does have it's drawbacks.” Jesse flickered his Zippo, letting the fragile flame dance before snapping it closed.

“Must be a desperate moment, then. So spit it out. Whatcha need? We're doing our best with the funds.” Fareeha asked, stretching her arms and settling hands behind her head. She has certainly built up since the last he saw her. She wasn't bulky, but there was physical power beneath her bronze skin.

“Could use a recap on what actually went down with 'Anubis'.”

She shook her head. “You know as much as we do. Nothing's being hidden as far as I know. If you ask me we simply underestimated it and it just found a way around it's confines. No rhythm or reason though. It's contained now, well, close to destroyed, but God Programs have proven too difficult to simply make disappear.”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“Cute, Jesse. Even with a face full of pubes you're still acting cute.”

Jesse fell back in a jumble of chuckles, stroking at his beard. “Now don't tell me I went through half the day getting your number to be turned away with nothing.”

Fareeha shrugged. “I don't know what to tell you on the subject. It's quarantined now, I'll just have to get back to you when we do find something.”

The Zippo rolled over Jesse's knuckles before settling on his thumb where he tapped it noisily against the desk. “Any other news then?”

“Outside of the usual skirmishes? Nothing really noteworthy. There is...” but Fareeha trailed off, rubbing at her cheek in thought. “Vishkar is starting to insist their presence is needed here. They're pressing and I'm sure threats aren't too far behind.”

“But Vishkar is a respectable company.”

“Not since the Brazil incident. The world sure loves the underdogs, especially freedom fighters, and they've been struggling with negative press ever since.”

“Even so, leave the pestering for the politicians.” Jesse grunted, not caring for the politics talk himself.

“If we have to be called in...” Fareeha trailed off again, smoothing a hand across her mouth. “It's ugly. Not to mention Talon's making appearances.”

Jesse straightened up. “In Egypt? I haven't heard anything.”

“They haven't done anything because we got a few vigilantes sprouting up as well. We try to keep them on a leash, but they're unbidden, got nothing keeping them back but their own honor code.” Fareeha's voice dropped and she leaned forward into the camera, “Don't tell anyone I said so, but I kinda like them around. Like having our own personal Blackwatch.”

The Zippo snapped shut against with a loud _tank_. “You don't mean that.” Jesse's eyes tightened.

The sudden change in atmosphere filtered through the line enough that Fareeha leaned back in her seat, watching Jesse with caution. “What you guys did-”

“What we did was pull Overwatch apart.”

She shook her head, “No one is ever happy to see the full picture. It takes a special kind of strength to do what you guys did.”

“A special kind of crazy.” Jesse rubbed at his eyes. Images of Reyes flashed behind the lids, but instead of the self assured idol Jesse had always perceived him as the images were twisted and scarred, almost beyond recognition.

“I'm just saying that-”

“Change the subject.” Jesse's tone could crack cement and Fareeha snapped her mouth shut with an audible click.

She held up her hands with a nod and didn't argue further. “There is something. It's not local here, but there's been an influx of smuggling along the silk road. Istanbul specifically.”

“Oh? What are they selling?”

“Firearms mostly. It's not much, merely rumors, but the spike is hard to ignore.”

The Zippo fell silent in his fingers, “Anything particular about them?”

She held up her finger. “That's the thing, they're just standard guns. Not even laser pistols. They just shoot old fashioned bullets.”

Jesse grabbed for his own datapad and typed a quick message to Genji. “That's actually more helpful than you might think.”

Fareeha considered him through the grainy feed. “Just don't chasing ghosts. It could be nothing.”

“Ah, you know I can't do that, Ree. I live for that kind of chase. I gotta talk with Genji. I'll call you again soon.” Jesse snagged for his hat and stood up to actually pull on his pants.

“Jesse! Ah! I don't want to see that!” Fareeha slapped her hands over her eyes in a pained groan. “I can't believe you called me half naked!”

Jesse sat back down quickly, “Whoops, money shot.” He chuckled, “I promise I will. Alright?”

Fareeha snorted, “We'll see. Later, cowboy.” she gave one last salute before reaching over and the screen sputtered out.

 

* * *

 

Three days.

He hadn't seen Genji in three days, since he woke from the operation. For four months Genji had been nothing but an insistent reminder. A nagging presence with golden intentions that had only caused Hanzo to recoil further from the promise of offered warmth. He had learned to accept the absence before much like a chick learns to fly by being thrust out of their nest. The scars ran deep but time had stiffened the flesh, the healing unsightly, but twice as strong.

At least he had thought before the familiarity was absent once again. Then he realized how deep under the skin the thorn had lodged.

The leather had warmed and started to stretch beneath his pounding knuckles. The bag was heavy, jerking against the blows, but the change of his rhythm kept it from completely swaying.

Genji had returned as a lit beacon, there being little doubt left to hold the theory of an impostor. But it felt off, it felt _wrong_. As if something was missing from the painting that was his younger brother. The very same one that he admitted he was lost without and yet the same he refused to return to.

The pounding continued, covered knuckles sinking into the fleshy bag with a stunted _thwap_ , the crunch of old duck tape offset the steady dull rhythm. Sweat seeped from his brow, rolling down his nose and seeping into his beard. How many hours did he spend here? He couldn't remember.

Hanzo grit his teeth, jabbing close and hard with the speed of a jackhammer before falling back and spun, aiming a kick to where the bag hung from the chain. But the kick didn't land, his foot hovered inches from the chain before slowly tapping the links with a faint _tink_.

His recovery was moving along rapidly. Angela gave one verbal protest and offered her strict schedule, but didn't bother fighting the archer when he made it apparent he was not remaining in bed for two of the weeks. He knew his body, how to listen to it. Knew when to push to the breaking point, but also knew when to abstain and not break it further. Already he could feel the strain of balancing all his weight on one leg. So he folded his other leg back and returned to both feet.

He hadn't seen anyone within the three days, except the good doctor and Hana. But it was only when the cowboy came around that it seemed anything moved forward. He was moved into a separate dorm room where Athena could only see within via heat signatures. His items were returned as well as the offer of a new phone and datapad. His bow and quiver were also returned, but he could only keep it within the training closets for the time being, under lock and key. And Athena's scrutiny. What time he didn't spend sleeping he spent in the small gym he had found.

He must have spent a moment too long contemplating the bag because a booming voice spun him around and crouched defensively before he spotted the source of the voice.

“Do you bow to the punching bag too?”

The man that spoke easily cleared seven feet, a shoulder span of perhaps four and a barreled chest fifty inches at the least. Swol didn't even cover the size of this man. More surprising was the fact that he wasn't young either, or even his own age if the mane of white hair was any indication and the thick scar striped over a blind eye.

Hanzo was taken back by the extremely open expression, peering at him with such honest curiosity he couldn't find it within himself to be offended. Instead he straightened up and turned toward the worn out punching bag, pressing a fist into his palm and offered it a deep bow and a quick word of gratitude for letting him beat the crap out of it.

Rolling laughter practically shook the walls as the giant waved him off. “Alright, I get it, stupid question.” his chuckles rumbled softer as he moved to one of the racks and dropped a duffel back on a bench. “I wasn't aware another used the onsite gym.”

“I have only been here a few days.” Hanzo grabbed for his own draped towel and wiped off his face and neck.

“New recruit?” The man paused then squinted, “D.Va?”

Hanzo was stunned at being mistaken for the little Korean girl, and the absurdity was overwhelming enough he heard himself chuckling at the question. “No, I am not Hana Song.”

The tall man colored and ducked his head in open shame, yanking open the duffel to pull out a towel and water bottle just to have something to do. “Two strikes for me, I'm on a roll.” he laughed again, but it lacked the booming confidence it had previously.

Usually Hanzo cared little for anyone that spoke before thinking, but this man's comments were truly harmless and clearly suffered from a spotty case of foot in mouth. So he stepped forward and offered his hand. “I am Hanzo.” he said, purposefully forgoing the family name.

“Reinhardt.” The man offered, smiling again and relaxing at the offered introduction instead of a reprimand. His large hand encased half of Hanzo's arm and the enthusiasm of the shake nearly knocked him off his feet.

“I am sorry if I said anything.” Reinhardt released Hanzo's arm and returned to wiping down the bar over the bench press. “I do have a tendency to sleep through meetings. Low blood pressure.” he explained, lifting the 45 pound disks and sliding them onto the barren bar. “I wasn't aware we had recruited another, though.”

Hanzo moved to gather up a set of barbells and started reps of shrugs. “That is because I am not a new recruit. I am merely here for medical treatment, then I will be leaving.”

Reinhardt paused after placing the sixth disk on the bar and eyed Hanzo curiously. “You seem capable. Not anyone is exactly allowed here, so there is a reason you are.” Reinhardt raised a brow, “So why not consider us?”

“I am afraid Overwatch and I do not agree on certain aspects.” Hanzo slid into the familiar speech.

To his credit Reinhardt caught on quicker than one would expect. “The omnic equality, huh. You might be surprised you aren't the only one that thinks so.” He laid down on the bench and adjusted himself and Hanzo had to pause his reps as the giant of a man cleared 600 pounds from the perch, the steal bar bending as it lowered to the swell of his chest then with great strain pushed back up again. Hanzo could not help but be impressed, the guy looked like he was pushing sixty if not already.

“How do you mean?” Hanzo finally asked once he watched a few reps then returned to his own workout.

Reinhardt didn't answer right away, matching his breathing with each slow press until he settled the weight back onto the stand. When he sat up he answered, “I was a Crusader during the crisis. I've seen what they can do. Saw many die beside me in great honor.”

Hanzo finished off his set. This was the type of speech he had heard many times, from the Elders, from his Grandfather. From his Father.

“It's difficult to return from that, to be sent back to your home and told sternly that you must 'forgive and move on'. Ha! As if I hadn't just risked my life against these things.” Reinhardt shook his head and laid back down on the bench, wrapping thick fingers around the elevated bar.

Hanzo had slowed to a stop again, staring down at a misplaced barbell creating deep rivets in the floor padding. A familiar ache rose in his chest and it startled him to realize he felt comfort in it's pain.

They returned to their own respective workouts in silence, letting the solemn mood burn away with the strain of overtaxed muscles. Finishing his set Hanzo returned the weights to the rack and picked up a second pair for shoulder inclines. “What made you join the Overwatch recall then?” He asked finally, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Ah, well.” Reinhardt grunted, setting the bar back and stood to remove the disc weights. “It isn't forever. Enemies shift and change depending where you are standing. War will effect one generation, perhaps two, but 'enemies' themselves are not a finite set of people, or omnics. How many wars have been fought between empires and countries to have them working together perhaps twenty years later?” he shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps that is what newer generations are for. They can forgive because they were not present at the time.” Reinhardt laughed suddenly, grabbing a barbell meant for two handed squats and sat down to use it for bicep curls. “Listen to me, yammering on like an old man.”

“I find what you say very interesting.” Hanzo interjected which earned him a sage smirk from the old giant.

“Don't take it to heart.”

“How can I not? You are admitting your attempt in reforming yourself.”

Reinhardt returned to his curls until he reached the end of his set, sweat starting to stain at the his shirt, setting patterns down his back and armpits. “Nah, not reforming, just an old soldier after the enemy.”

Hanzo set his own weights back, grabbing the towel to wipe his face again. “But you will pursue peace with the omnics?”

Reinhardt bobbed his head. “Difficult task, but not impossible.”

“And the enemy?”

“There is always an enemy, but 'who' changes. God programs during the omnic crisis, now it's Talon.”

Hanzo paused. “Talon?” he asked absently, not having expected that answer.

What explanation Reinhardt was going to give was abruptly interrupted by the clattering of the gym doors opening and Hana sauntered in, spotting Hanzo and bounded over to grab at his arm.

“It's in! It came in this morning and I finished prepping it. Come on, come on, you have to see.”

“See what exactly?” Hanzo asked, allowing her free reign of his arm to be tugged and swayed. If the heavy sheen of sweat bothered her she certainly didn't show it.

“My mech! Now I can _really_ show you boys what I'm capable of.” Hana ended in a devious smirk that rose Hanzo's brows and, needless to say, piqued his curiosity. “You too, old man!” she cheerfully waved at Reinhardt who stood with vigorous interest.

“Lead on, little miss!” He roared in glee.

“I should shower fir-”

“No, now!” Hana insisted with a fierce scowl that Hanzo found he couldn't fight short of physically overpowering the girl. Especially when she dropped her small hand into his and laced their fingers together. “You're gonna love it. You won't know what hit you.”


	16. The Tipping Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bad words. Good translations.

“Dasi han pan haebojago!”

The pink meka spiraled through the torrent of drones, weaving between the slower speeds with calculated flicks. The drones themselves looked clumsy as they made wide turns to try and follow the meka's pitched movements. Thirty drones clinked and whirred as they continued their non-lethal chase.

To keep destruction to a minimal Hana flew outside hangers 2 and 3, the space wide enough to send off jets and far enough from the the main base not to cause any structural harm should anything happen.

According to Lena it was impressive maneuvering, that the quickness was due to the smaller size of the meka and how that was handy in the tight spaces of low flying. She was, however, concerned on fuel storage and made sure Hanzo knew she had to ask Hana about it.

He only hummed, not interrupting Lena's speech on the art of flying. In all honesty he didn't know much on the subject himself so he couldn't exactly contribute to the conversation, but Lena seemed content to speaking alone as long as there were ears to listen.

Hana slowed to a steady pace, making wide laps in the air to gather all the drones in a hazy line behind her, waiting for them to catch up and sync together before she took off again. A muted blast kicked her to top speed in an instant, shooting straight up to the sky. The drones diligently whirring to keep up until the cloud looked like a trail of smoke after Hana's meka. Both Hanzo and Lena shaded their eyes against the afternoon sun, Hanzo frowning as he wondered what altitude was the limit the more she climbed.

He didn't have to worry for long. After Hana was certain every drone floated beneath her she killed the thrusters and the distant roar sputtered out completely. She peaked, rotating at the apex of her climb and dropped, along with Hanzo's heart. Free falling in a spin, guns blazing as she twirled slowly at first then faster, bullets ripping through the drones as they buzzed in attempts to dart away. Several yards above the tarmac the thrusters blazed once more and the straight drop curved enough to skim over the asphalt and give one final loop before the small but growing crowd. Skidding to a halt before them she struck a pose, all the drones fell behind her in a thunderous hailstorm.

Hanzo released the breath he held as Lena cheered and clapped, “Alright! The ol' 'drop and pop'! Hahaha! I haven't seen that one in years.” A bony fist jabbed into Hanzo's shoulder, causing his attention to shift towards her. Lena's lopsided grin wasn't enough to warrant his own, but she didn't flinch or seem upset by his lack of reaction. Instead she waved at Hana's posing. “Wouldn't mind that at my back in a tight situation. McCree sure picked up a good one.”

“It's too bad the drones are so mindless!” Reinhardt bellowed in a huff, throwing up his arms in dramatic disappointment. “They are too easy to overcome.”

“We don't quite have anything set up for something of her ..uh, size.” Lena chirped, watching Hana blast victory laps around the fallen trophies. “Winston won't be too happy about this, though.”

“You're right. I'm not.” The gorilla lumbered to Lena's side with a bull snort. “But at least we can see first hand what she can do.”

Lena stretched and flopped against Winston's side as he settled in to watch. “Don't worry big guy, we'll get more. With guns! Pew pew.” Winston grumbled but subsided to to Lena's bubbly nature.

As the crowd grew Hanzo felt more compelled to ease away, staying on the fringes until the arrival of Angela herself had him turn and walk away altogether. Jesse had just started to wander over from the hanger himself, finishing buttoning his flannel and tucking it into his belt, curious at the show. “What's going on over there?” he asked once he drew nearer to Hanzo who was retreating back to the base.

McCree was another constant presence that Hanzo started to realize he was taking for granted. He didn't ever initiate their meetings but he was starting to grow accustomed to the brash man.

“Miss Song had her meka arrive earlier and wished to show off with it.” Hanzo answered but didn't slow as he passed the cowboy by.

Jesse looked on at the crowd gathered and the flying pink meka darting around, then over at Hanzo's retreating back before he made up his mind and hustled after the archer, catching up until they rubbed elbows. After all, he's seen her do these things plenty of times already. “She everything I said she was?”

“Considering I do not know what you said about her I will agree that she has skill and the confidence behind it.” Hanzo said, slowing before he reached the inner gate to glance back as the mech took off again, weaving patterns around the antennas.

Jesse stopped beside him, squinting at the distance. Hanzo pondered if he should return, be present for her after, but decided against it, knowing the rest of the team, _her_ team was there for her, not him. She'll be disappointed though and he might not hear the end of it.

The silence steeped until Hanzo felt a familiar itch crawling up his arm and down his chest. A quick glance to the cowboy confirmed that Jesse had stopped watching the show and was openly eyeballing Hanzo's tattoo. Among other things. With a mental snort at the lack of subtly Hanzo turned to berate him, but before he could pull together a witty enough jab McCree did that for him.

“You always wear that?”

Hanzo blinked slowly, brows furrowed as he glanced down at himself. He was wearing a simple tank and sweatpants, gray and sweat stained. Nothing of particular interest. “During exorcise, yes. Do you wear something different?”

He noticed Jesse's immediate regret and the lines that drew around his mouth as he fought a flustered frown. “Well, I mean...haven't been in awhile. But it looks good on you. I mean, considering that you don't need much. To uhm..to look...look good.” Jesse trailed off, realizing his was rambling, but he couldn't really stop himself until the momentum of the train derailed completely.

The more he spoke the worse it became, and Hanzo wasn't about to save him with an interjected word. He just waited, patiently, until Jesse was finished, managing to look blasé and amused at the same time.

“I stink. I need a shower.” Hanzo pinched at the fabric of his tank top, pulling it free from sticky skin.

Distracted by the fluttering shirt and the more exposure of chest Jesse blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I'm sure that looks good on you too.”

It took a moment to register, but he winced the moment it did. Hanzo merely peered at him as if he had just called the Earth flat.

Jesse stuffed his hands firmly into his pockets with a disheartening sigh, giving up his fruitless attempts of being suave. “You're getting a kick outta this, aintcha?”

“Very much, yes.” Hanzo schooled his expression as he answered, glancing aside to hide the faint curl of his lips. If Hana's attention was flattering in the strict sense she was half his age, McCree's attention was perhaps the opposite, but boundlessly entertaining none the less.

Jesse dug his heel into the asphalt, chewing his cheek in thought. “Look, Han. I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to think I'm being too forward.” He glanced up, hoping he hadn't pushed too far too fast, but Hanzo's attention was elsewhere. Following his gaze Jesse saw Genji walking from the crowd back towards the main base.

“Excuse me.” Hanzo muttered quietly, his gaze never leaving Genji before he took off after him.

Jesse nodded, “Sure, Han.” turning to watch him ease into a light jog. “Just wanted to ask if you wanted to get some drinks sometime.” he said to the air.

_Even with your silver tongue you can't catch a single date, haha!_

Shut up, Reyes.

 

 

Hanzo caught up with Genji between the dorms and the mess hall. Genji knew Hanzo was there, but only paused when he heard his name called out. So he stopped and waited, rolling his shoulders before turning to face his brother.

“You are avoiding me.” Hanzo greeted with a jack hammer, forgoing pleasantries for truth.

“I have been busy.” Genji replied. Faceplate on or not he was always a terrible liar. “You are safe here so I do not have to keep as close an eye on you as often.” He turned, attempting to continue on his way.

But Hanzo stepped in front of him, arms folded tightly across his chest. “You've been nothing but zen since you've shown yourself, wouldn't stop talking about Overwatch, but now that we're here I haven't seen you at all. What's changed?”

Genji inhaled deeply and settled his hands on his hips, glancing around, anywhere but him. “I'm just...just worried what you will do with your sessions with my Master.”

“If anything I will not be rude.” Hanzo's eyes narrowed. “You know that.”

“Polite. Feh. We all know you have your murder glare. You always could be such a passive aggressive asshole.”

“You're worried that I would offend you new 'Master'?”

Genji nodded. “Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

The cyborg deflated with a sigh, rubbing at his faceplate. “Hanzo. Brother. It's been a long day.”

Hanzo wasn't buying that either and was now growing irritated that Genji would even attempt to lie to him at all.

“You're reminded.” Hanzo offered instead.

Genji glanced up, “What?”

Hanzo nodded to the gray walls, “It was easier to see me out there. But here, among your friends.” He stepped closer, dropping his voice despite speaking in their native language. “Among your _family_.”

“Hanzo.” Genji warned in a hiss. “It's not like that.”

“No? How naive do you think I am? These people here-”

“Hanzo.” Genji warned again.

“Your newfound sisters.”

Genji held up a hand. “Stop.”

“Brothers.” Hanzo pressed.

“Hanzo!” Genji's hands tightened to fists.

Hanzo unraveled his own arms to gesture dramatically around himself, “You thought you could bring me here and we would just be one big happy family. But that's not happening is it?” He would not relent, not until the breaking point. He had to see the real Genji, the one behind the practiced calm. “You already replaced father. Did you replace mother too?” Hanzo paused, wetting his lips to keep his fangs behind them. “Did you replace me as well?”

Genji stilled.

Noting the shift Hanzo rose his chin, “A different brother. A better one. Which one did you put in my place? Is it McCr-”

The strike came faster than Hanzo could react to, the flair of pain blossomed across his jaw as he stumbled backwards. Hands fell on his shirt and he was slammed back against the hall wall. A very faceless, very angry Genji held him up several inches above the floor.

“YES!” Genji shouted, “Yes! He is my brother! He helped me after what you did! They _ALL_ did!” Hanzo was pulled forward enough to slam back again, Genji's faceplate pressed close enough to hear the faint respiratory whine with each heavy breath.

Hanzo gripped at Genji's wrists that held him suspended, his feet blindly searching for purchase on the slick wall.

“Is that what you want to hear? Is this what you _WANT_!?!” The last shout echoed down the barren hall. All that repllied was the faint buzz of the overhead neon lights. Hanzo held on, struggling for balance, but didn't try to break the grip.

_Was it?_

For so long it was. He could think of nothing but punishments, mostly self inflicted, rarely physical, until eventually even that was too numbed to be of any satisfaction. But now? Now that Genji himself has moved on, carved a life for himself despite it all and he had yet to pull himself out of the decade old rot.

Hanzo swallowed thickly, unable to answer.

Slowly he was lowered until his feet touched the ground. “I hated you.” Genji's voice fell. “Every night I wouldn't sleep until I imagined you fall still beneath my hands.” Hanzo couldn't look at him, could hardly keep himself from pulling away and running, but the hands clung to his shirt, keeping him rooted. “I hated you until there was nothing left of me.”

“Genji...” Hanzo's voice broke, a pathetic noise he didn't realize he was capable of.

Genji's faceplate lifted then turned aside to be removed completely. “You aren't the only one that is lost.”

Released from the grip Genji grabbed at Hanzo's head to look at him, to really look. This close he could see the rubber of scar tissues. He could see the healed holes left by stitches and the flecks of gold embedded within his irises.

His own hands raised to grip the warm plating cupping the back of Genji's head, their foreheads pressed together and he closed his eyes with a stuttered breath. “We were supposed to rule together.” Hanzo whispered, not trusting his voice.

“No, Hanzo.” Genji pulled away, once again leaving Hanzo to stand on his own. “No, we're not.”

 

* * *

 

“ -top lawyers are working on the lawsuits as we speak. The United Nations have not been notified yet and we are willing to compromise your exposure should the items in question be returned to Vishkar- “

“The hell is this?” McCree growled over Athena's broadcasting.

“That's enough, Athena.” Winston said, closing the email and turned to the other two in his quarters: a make-shift lab and communications tower rolled together and bound with a sloppy amount of paperwork scattered around. Everything started from here.

McCree and Angela stood behind the tire, peering over the gorilla's shoulder at his many screens.

“What it means is that apparently we have stolen Vishkar technology and they are adamant that we return it.” Winston adjusted his glasses and peered at the two over them.

“What do we have that is theirs?” Angela asked, completely baffled.

“Nothing.” Winston answered. “Nothing that any of us are aware of.” he amended. He then flashed McCree a pointed look.

Jesse stepped back, flabbergasted at the stare. “What did I do? You think I stole something? I hardly know how their stuff works, much less steal it.”

“I will have to stand by him.” Angela joined in to defend McCree. “Jesse is many things but a thief isn't one of them.”

Winston sat, perched on the tire edge as he massaged his eyes behind the glasses. “The fact that Vishkar opened with threats leads me to believe what we have is incriminating to them and they are worried we will 'out' them or blackmail them on...whatever it is.”

“If it's incriminating then we really can hound them for what they've done.” Angela ran her thumb over her cheek in thought.

“Not against their line of lawyers. Don't forget the law bends to those that can wield it. If they're that desperate they'll throw everything at us.” Winston argued.

Jesse snapped his fingers in realization and pointed to the forgotten beaker sitting on top of a stack of paper, the fine powder of nanobots still dormant inside.

“That is a quick conclusion, McCree.” Winston said, but peered curiously at the beaker himself.

“Common knowledge to know the simplest answer is usually the correct one. Besides, Athena monitors everything that we bring into the base.” Jesse tucked his hands under his elbows.

“You know I can't verify that until I've thoroughly researched them.”

Jesse shrugged, “Suit yourself. You're the scientist. I stand by my hunch.”

“It does make sense...” Winston stroked at his chin, but quickly shook his head. “I'll look into it.”

“I'm surprise you haven't yet.” Angela prodded.

Winston grunted and turned back to the computer, quickly typing up something until a video came up. “I've been busy. Tracking Talon's next move is not an easy feat. I have found movement though, here.” he pointed to a pulsing red circle around several islands off the south of Greece.

Both Angela and Jesse leaned over Winston's shoulders to better see the map. 

“Why? What's there?” McCree asked.

“That's the question, but it's undeniable.” Winston continued, pulling open another video showing the colorful street darkened momentarily by an unnatural blackened cloud, one that formed into a cloaked figure and sauntered off frame. “And also why why I called you both. I want to know why they're there and what they're after. I don't care how you do it, make some calls, assemble a team, what you will.”

The smack on Winston's back nearly went unnoticed if it wasn't accompanied with Jesse's short chuckle. “You got it, Chief.”

“McCree.” Winston turned as the jangling cowboy headed out, pausing as his name was called. “Agents only.” Winston stated with another firm look.

Jesse was startled by the accusation, then irritated, then confused, but ended in a resigned shrug. “'Course.” He then turned to make a quick exit.

It wasn't as if he was obvious about it. At least, he assumed he wasn't obvious. He still had his head together. Mostly. He wasn't going to endanger the team's lives because of a brief infatuation. The team always came first, bro's before ho's.

Shoving his hands into his pockets for the second time that day he mosied toward the mess. It wasn't late but he could use a beer or two before he'd hunker down and think of Greece. Or tattooed skin.

A loud chink of glass had Jesse redirect his steps toward the back kitchen. Peeking his head around the corner he expected to see Lena dishing out one of her six thousand calorie meals she had to eat or Hana grabbing snacks in preparation for late night streams.

Instead he came across the walk in wide open and Hanzo within shifting through their stash of beer, pulling out bottles to examine the label then either put it back to set it in the small collection at the crook of his arm.

“Thirsty there, partner?” Jesse poked his head inside.

“Yes.” Hanzo answered seriously, “Is this all there is?”

Jesse leaned his shoulder on the doorway. “Only beer is allowed on base. Heaviest we have is German. Don't ask me to pronounce it, I'll just butcher it. Reinhardt usually drinks it all, though.”

Hanzo gave no reply, simply pulling down another crate and tugged a bottle free to squint at the alcohol content, frown, then place it back.

Watching through two more bottles Jesse couldn't seem to find any connection. Hanzo was stoic as ever, mind set on a task that held no meaning except to himself.

“You want something stronger?” Jesse asked, the collect of beer in Hanzo's arm growing by one.

Hanzo slowed, then peered suspiciously at him. “Stronger what?”

“Stronger alcohol.”

“You just said only beer is allowed on base.”

“I'm not talking about on base.” Jesse crossed his arms and his ankles as he reclined.

That rose Hanzo's brows and he carefully set down the bottles he was holding, arranging them on the shelf. “I am not allowed off site-”

“Without an escort.” Jesse finished with a lift of his lips. “Plenty of bars in the nearby town.”

It didn't surprise Jesse that it took little convincing before Hanzo agreed. After a summary of rules and half assessments of regulations they departed for a quick change of clothes and a spray of Old Spice in McCree's case. Minutes later Jesse got the green light from Winston and the two of them were gliding down the mountainside in the hover truck to the glittering town stretched in the darkness.

The radio hummed to some golden rock tunes before the turn of the century, something light that kept the stiffing silence between the two of them at bay. Hanzo said nothing the entire drive, leaning against the window with his own collective thoughts. If he was upset it was difficult to decipher, nothing showing beyond his typical rigid posture and reticent expression. The only give away was the darkening bruise almost completely hidden by Hanzo's beard. If Jesse wasn't attuned to how the beard sat exactly on Hanzo's jaw he would have missed it completely.

Try as he might he couldn't hate McCree. And he did try. He was a better man, by every means. Sure, he had his faults, but they were hardly ground breaking and could easily pass off as charming or cute. The sway of a turn had him sigh, peering into the darkness as his self-loathing warred with his hard fought confidence.

The night was warm, but not uncomfortable as Jesse eased into a tight parking spot, so they left their jackets within the truck and stepped into the small pub. Having frequented the many bars in the the small town of Gibraltar since his arrival Jesse chose this particular one for it's size and the simple fact it was just as archaic as they both were. Part of an old cobbled building still held up by stone walls, the bar itself a deep mahogany that was well worn, but also well taken care of and trimmed with glinting brass. Ancient paintings of storming bulls and matadors in glittering costumes hung loosely upon the walls keeping the atmosphere earthy and rich.

Several patrons were scattered through the dimly lit interior, the air smoldering with the haze of smoke from their choice of cigars. Hanzo made no comment if it bothered him, bee-lining to the bar and ordering, to Jesse's surprise, scotch. Jesse settled in beside him and ordered the same from the patient but cheerless middle aged bartender.

The silence continued, but only between the two of them. Hanzo kept his head down, looking for answers within the amber liquid as it disappeared quickly and Jesse just offering his presence without the need to converse.

By the third drink Hanzo seemed to relax enough that his shoulders weren't shoved up to his ears and comfortable enough to speak. “Do you have family, McCree?”

Jesse had switched to water after the second in knowledge that he would be driving them back. “Biological or otherwise?”

Hanzo's face pinched in thought, trying to understand the second option in context of his sentence. “Biological.”

Jesse nodded. “Had my mother and sat right between two sisters.”

“And your father?” Hanzo asked, finally noting something other than the glass in his hand and glanced over to Jesse.

“Mmm. Never knew him.” Jesse swallowed but offered a smile anyway. “Only biologically speaking, thought. Did have a father _figure_ sometime later.”

“Was it Gabriel Reyes?”

Hearing the name aloud so open and without any kind of hatred behind it nearly threw Jesse off his own stool. Recovering quickly he only nodded before taking another drink of water, which now he was regretting ordering.

“Genji spoke about him.” Hanzo continued without noticing Jesse's turmoil. “It think it was like that for him as well.” He lifted his glass and spoke directly into it, “Even though he knew his father.” then knocked the rest back.

Three scotch in was enough to have Hanzo consciously admit to himself that he actually enjoyed the cowboy's presence. They seemed to be alike, background of carnage and questionable affairs, yet worlds apart enough to remain interesting. He was still lucid enough to see and think straight, but his standards always lowered first before the other senses followed.

He ordered another.

The warmth of the alcohol was comforting along with the slow growth of cotton between his ears.

“Were you ever a married man, McCree?” he asked next, snatching up his refill but licked at the glass before he sipped.

Jesse had to hide his choke with a snort and pound at his chest as water ran down the wrong tube. “Almost.” he croaked, then wheezed. “Three times almost, if you want to know. I've proposed before, almost saw it through once.” He chuckled once the water settled down correctly. He didn't mind the personal questions, though a warning would have been nice, however it wouldn't have been quite as interesting. He didn't have anything to hide, after all, not from Hanzo.

That drew intrigue from a tipsy Hanzo and he leaned toward him, resting his chin on his knuckles. “What changed your mind?”

Jesse couldn't help his own smile, leaning just enough himself to brush shoulders. “I was 24. Having spent some time in Overwatch I was convinced I was a new man. And I was, to a degree. Started seeing this guy, about my age.”

Hanzo listened, interested instead of off put. In all honesty Jesse wasn't sure how'd he react to the topic, so he continued. “Biggest blue eyes, real looker that guy. One that I often wondered how I got a hold of.”

“Was he a soldier on the base?” Hanzo asked, lifting a hand to wave for another. The bartender paused before refilling, as if debating if he had enough or not, but the tall pile of Euros Hanzo pushed his way was enough to not care if another drunk spent his night in the back alley.

“You _are_ kinda putting those away fast.” McCree pointed out, sober enough to know he could handle a drunken fit if he had to.

Hanzo merely straightened up and waved him off. “Tell me what happened. Why did you change your mind?”

Jesse bobbed his head with a light chuckle. “Alright. To answer your first question: no, he wasn't a soldier. He was a hairdresser in the nearby town. Got my trims there.” Jesse ran his thumb through his beard in memory. “There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing wrong. He was husband material. If that's the correct terminology.” Metallic fingertips tapped along his own glass. “Wanted a house in a nice community, little fluffy dogs, and to argue which cupboard the good china would go in.”

He didn't realize he was frowning until he saw his reflection in the still water. “He was very, very... regular and wanted a normal life.” Jesse laughed suddenly. “Turns out I grew bored of it very quickly, so I waved good bye to the idea and never looked back.”

Hanzo was drunk. He had to be drunk because the smile that joined Jesse's own looked so _pure_. It wasn't a smirk or a shrewd grin. It was the kind of smile that squinted already narrowed eyes and crinkled them at the edges. The kind that made Jesse's heart stop. “Truly? Never again?”

Jesse downed the rest of his water and called for a bourbon this time. “Nope. If I have to settle down one day it'll be at the bottom of my grave.”

The snorted laughter that came from Hanzo made Jesse's own laugh that much harder. It warmed him more than the alcohol and and the archer was looking tense free if the drunken flush was any indication. Hanzo turned back to his drink, but slowed down considerably, only nursing it between his palms instead.

They spent the next hour talking about nothing truly substantial. Mediterranean beaches, the cities they've visited, and even where good china should be stored just to get a rile out of Jesse. It worked enough to have the cowboy groan and shove Hanzo off his stool.

In his current inebriated state Hanzo nearly fell over completely until Jesse grabbed at his arm and righted him with a chuckle. “Easy there. You know it doesn't hit you until you try to stand.”

With his back against the bar and Jesse's large hand holding him upright Hanzo managed to to steady himself as the swimming floor settled once again beneath his feet. Bleary eyes focused against the dim of the room for a moment then cocked his head toward the cowboy. “Your six. Been staring at you all night.”

“My what?” Jesse just about turned around to look but his jaw was caught by rough fingers restricting him from doing so. Hanzo gave him a look to remind Jesse he was the sober one then darted a glance to the mirror above the bar shelves.

From what Jesse could see from the antique tilted mirror was a young man, early twenties, skin a vibrant bronze and greased dark curls that gleamed too brightly to be natural. He sat alone at a table, drawing fingertips along the half empty beer mug as he flicked a look of longing toward Jesse's back.

A knock at his elbow had Jesse turn his attention back to Hanzo. “I am going to the restroom.” he said and heavily patted Jesse on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself.”

Before Jesse could retaliate with refusal Hanzo had already staggered off toward the back restrooms. He hadn't even gone far before the same young man slid in next to Jesse and smiled his way.

“Hola, Americano.”

Jesse bit back a groan and instead lifted a hand to cut the greeting short. “Sorry, bud. I'm not interested. No interesado.”

“No?” The Spaniard didn't seem off put by the sudden rejection. “I know a man of men when I see one.” his Spanish accent smoothed the vowels thick as honey.

“That's not it. I'm just not looking is all.” Jesse pointedly stared down at his glass and took a long pull, willing the man away.

“If you are waiting for him you will wait too long. He is not like you or I.” The Spaniard drank from his own, boring holes into the side of Jesse's skull. He licked his lips and set the mug aside before leaning in once again. “I can bet he won't do what I can.” the voice purred, a hand found a way to Jesse's knee, sliding up his thigh to squeeze at the base of his hip.

“I don't give a damn what you can do.” Jesse hissed and grabbed the hand, growing angry at the persistent advances and the damn touch had his second brain perked and curious. Angry and aroused, the combination was a double threat to his rational thinking. He squeezed the fingers tightly, too tightly, until the man winced, “Don't touch me again.”

The Spaniard retracted, crestfallen as he curled around his drink, rubbing at his fingers. “Lo siento.” he murmured, more to his beer than to him.

Jesse started to dig around in his pockets for the loose cash he had brought. “Look, kid, you're a good lookin' guy. Won't be hard to find someone else.” Finding the wad he pulled it free and started to count through the bills, tossing several next to his empty glass.

The Spaniard, didn't quite look back at him, but past him instead. “Like your friend? He found Isabella.”

Jesse whirled around and sure enough Hanzo had freshly emerged from the men's room, peering down at a woman with a firm look of confusion. He shook his head several times at her, showing he didn't understand the language, but the act itself had him stagger and she was quick enough grab for his wrist and wrap his arm around her shoulder, her own snaked around his waist holding him steady. A cigarette was offered to him and she leaned upwards to whisper against his ear.

Disappointment cursed through Jesse, watching as the cigarette pressed between Hanzo's lips and the painted woman smiled. A glance over her shoulder towards someone Jesse couldn't see and she had Hanzo out the back door with little resistance. Shortly after a nondescript man followed suit.

Jesse simply stood dumbfounded, staring unblinking at the door they disappeared through until he felt a presence join him. The Spaniard chewed at his bottom lip then peered at Jesse with raised brows. “Listen, vaquero. Forget him.”

That pulled Jesse out of his thoughts and he shook his head to clear the static. “No.” he growled and pushed his way toward the back exit.

“Lotienos mal miamigo, muy mal.” The Spaniard called after him.

“¡Callate, no es nada de importancia parati!” Jesse shouted back before kicking the door open.

The scaled bricks jabbed through Hanzo's shirt as he was pushed back against them, but he needed the anchor just to stand upright. The girl that snagged him wouldn't speak English, or couldn't, but insisted to continue asking him questions that he couldn't try to fathom. At least her hands made clear her intentions as they slipped under his shirt to slide along his belly.

That's fine, it's fine. What wasn't fine was how the flame from the lighter he finally got to work couldn't seem to hold still long enough to actually light his proffered cigarette. When it did finally light she was already on her knees and tugging at his zipper.

The back alley was small, the building's pressed close down around them, old and silent and startlingly accusing. A man stood at the mouth, not watching, keeping his back turned, but had an easy stance that signified he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Hanzo was drunk, but he could deduce one of two reasons for him to be there; he was about to be mugged, or he was about to pay the woman for her services.

She continued to speak, her voice dropped to sultry whispers, her breath hot against the fabric of his briefs. Fingers curled beneath the elastic, but stopped abruptly when he pushed her head away. “I am not paying.”

Her eyes flew wide and hardened almost instantly. “Not paying?”

At the mouth of the alley the pimp appeared to be in an argument with none other than Jesse McCree himself. He should have been inside flirting with the young Spaniard, but instead he was out here growling at a pimp. For some reason Hanzo found that immensely funny and started to chuckle. Taking instant offense, as she assumed the laugh was about her, Isabella rose to her feet to outright yell at him.

She might have been pretty, beneath all the paint she wore, if she ever took the time to really appreciate herself. Distracted by the smudge of glitter eyeliner it didn't even occur to him she was yelling in English until he caught the tail end of profanities and several violent threats concerning her stilettos and his testicles.

At the mouth Jesse shoved Euros at the pimp and that seemed to end that argument. The man counted through the stack before calling down to Isabella. Whatever he said quelled her shouting, but not her anger. “You do not know how lucky you are to have me. I am the best. You,” She jabbed a hooked fingernail into his chest, snarling in his face. “You are too short. No other girl will even look at you.”

Hanzo's mirth was quickly replaced by murderous intent. The sudden shift unsettled the woman enough to silence her. Carefully pinching the cigarette between his fingers he leaned forward, Isabella squaring her shoulders for retaliation, until he simply blew smoke in her face.

She fell back with a horrified gasp then snarled and slapped him across the face. “Sarasa.” Isabella spat, turned on her heel, and left.

He chuckled again, rubbing at his cheek as he sucked in more of the sweet smoke, the clack of her heels faded into the night. It was soon replaced with a slower scoff made by heavier heels that echoed within the small corridor. McCree approached, just a silhouette against the yellow street lamps.

The footfalls stopped some feet away and Hanzo didn't have to look to know eyes were on him again, roving where his shirt still hitched up and how his unfastened jeans lung low on his hips. He flicked the ash, suddenly very aware of how Jesse was looking at him, stripped him bare, left him exposed and nearly vulnerable. “Have you come to save me again, McCree?”

McCree didn't move from his spot, remained still as stone, cutting an imposing figure through the synthetic light. “You hardly needed saving.”

Hanzo let his head fall back against the brick, his bleary gaze trailed up McCree's shadow and rested somewhere where his face should be. “You have come to take her place, then?”

No answer came, not verbally at least. McCree stalked forward until he stood over Hanzo, propping a hand besides his head as Jesse leaned into his space. But a firm hand on his chest kept Jesse from closing in completely. Hanzo watched Jesse's blooming frustration from being held back until the archer nodded to where Isabella had been kneeling before. “Well?”

McCree's eyes widened just a hair before a dangerously sly grin curled his lips. Hanzo could only unabashedly stare at them as Jesse slowly removed his hat and tossed it onto a nearby overturned box.

Hands slid up over Hanzo's hips and caught beneath his shirt, tugging it higher about his ribs before Jesse dipped his head to press warm lips just beneath his sternum, trailing down the ridges of his belly, pausing only to swirl his tongue inside the pouting navel which made the muscles clench and Jesse rumble in delight how they slide beneath his fingertips. Hanzo slid his eyes closed, content. One mouth or another was a fine stress relief and he inhaled more smoke, enjoying the light flavor of tobacco as well as the trail of wet kisses following the fine hairs of his belly to the elastic band.

What did surprise Hanzo was the utter lack of finesse as soon as Jesse's knees hit the ground. His jeans were nearly ripped down his legs followed shortly by the briefs and the sudden jostle had Hanzo grasping at the bricks and McCree's thick hair to hold balance as a shoulder muscled in under a thigh and lifted him high enough off the ground that he had only his toes to support him. The cigarette was knocked from his mouth in the bustle, falling to sizzle in a stray puddle, left forgotten as Hanzo was suddenly swallowed whole with no warning.

McCree certainly wasn't playing around and Hanzo learned that a little too late, his head slammed back against the brick and the shout he didn't know he made echoed down the alley, fingers tightened around chocolate strands the tighter the heat around him became. He hadn't been aroused with Isabella and McCree's short lead of foreplay had churned his blood, but there was no denying the swell of his cock now, filling the confines of McCree's mouth as he was _devoured_.

Jesse gave a hum of satisfaction, making Hanzo twitch and nearly buck his hips in turn. Just watching the archer's reaction had his own pants tight to near pain so he shifted enough to adjust himself to a better angle. Only when he was sure Hanzo might pass out from the breath he probably didn't realize he was holding did Jesse pull back and let him slide free with a lingering slurp at the tip.

Licking up the underside of the now fully erect and proudly saluting member Jesse watched Hanzo's chest heave as he panted heavily, watched as the muscles of his stomach clench from each flick of his tongue across the purpling slit. Blunt fingertips scraped the brick over Hanzo's head, trying desperately to find a perch to hold onto as he stared heavy lidded down at Jesse. No, Jesse's mouth. The tongue flicked over those lips in a tease then Jesse turned his head to press them against the creamy skin of Hanzo's inner thigh, sucking it between his teeth until it turned an angry red.

A sharp pull of his hair and a quick glance upwards told Jesse that Hanzo was impatient for more. The inherent _need_ in his dilated eyes was enough to push Jesse over the brink if he spared even half a moment to touch himself, but he didn't. Not now. He had something to prove first.

Sucking him back in brought a sigh from Hanzo and the slow bobbing of his head elicit hitched breaths. Jesse paused every other pull back to curl his tongue beneath the head and pressed it firmly against his soft palate. Though Hanzo's breathing was ragged Jesse couldn't seem to elicit a sound from the archer baring that first initial shout and he wondered if Hanzo also mastered the useless art of holding back.

Readjusting his hold on Hanzo, Jesse shifted him enough to reach his prosthetic hand around and between the archer's legs, sliding fingertips up the inside of his thigh to press along the seam just behind his balls. There he rubbed and pressed, massaging the muscle to relax enough to push further. The massage also brushed his fingertips over the tight pucker and Jesse could feel Hanzo stiffen in his grip. “...McCree...” he warned in a tone no louder than a murmur, but still held a note of caution.

Jesse pulled off and nuzzled the crisp hairs at the base instead, peering up at him. “Ain't going further than this.” he cooed. “Give it a moment. I promise you'll like it.” Jesse wasn't going to push, but he did prod, twisting his fingers aside to press the long pad of his thumb into the muscle until it gave way enough that the pressure sent a faint but visible jolt through Hanzo's body. Hanzo screwed his eyes shut, his mouth falling open in a throaty moan that rang in Jesse's ears.

There it was.

Encouraged by the newfound vocal addition Jesse stopped his teasing licks and returned to capturing Hanzo's cock fully, jaw working as he slurped up the shaft and sucked hard enough to hollow his cheeks. Along with the firm massage, a faint promise to what could be, Hanzo all but squirmed in Jesse's grip, trying but failing to keep his hips still. Jesse held him back with a firm hand, keeping it at his own pace. A pace he increased until he felt the thrum of taunt muscles trembling for release, until the metallic heel draped over his back dug harshly into his kidney to pull Jesse closer.

When Hanzo's groans started to break and his breaths became gasps Jesse pulled back until he was suckling on just the head and gripped the shaft with his flesh hand, squeezing tightly, the squelch of saliva seeped around his thick fingers. The massage picked up the pace, though, fingers unrelenting as they continued to rub and soon Hanzo thrashed in his hold, abandoned the brick to curl over Jesse's shoulder as he cried out his release.

Waves of cum cascaded over his tongue, even as he used it to herd the sheer quantity to the front of his mouth, gripping tightly onto Hanzo as he finished riding out the torrent. When he all but stilled Jesse pulled free and released his iron grip on the man, carefully tugging the fingers out of his hair so he could turn aside and spit. The flavor remained, just enough to savor as Hanzo unfolded himself and found he had little strength to stand. Jesse carefully guided the trembling archer down into his lap until he caught his breath.

He didn't care, at least at the moment as Jesse's arms encircled him and pulled him close. The beard tickled across his cheek, soothing hands brushed the stray wisps of hair that pulled free from his tie, the low timber of Jesse's voice coaxed him down from the natural high.

For the moment he allowed himself to float. There was no future, no past, no Genji, no Overwatch. Just him and McCree embracing. He curled trembling fingers into the soft shirt, his head resting against a strong shoulder.

Breath stirred the gray hairs at his temple, and ghosted down his cheek across to his lips. The tang of salt had him pulling back before their lips met. Quickly pressing a hand over McCree's mouth Hanzo glanced around. Still in the dingy alleyway just outside the bar, pants tugging around his knees.

Jesse leaned back with a sigh, tugging Hanzo's hand from his mouth. One step at a time. “You alright there?” he asked as Hanzo quickly stood and yanked his jeans back up.

“I am...” Hanzo trailed, stopping himself from a snappy retort, lowering his gaze in the faintest hint of bashfulness. “I am fine. Now. We should not linger in the open.”

The splay of lashes against the high rise of cheekbones had Jesse ready for a second round. But that wasn't going to happen, not tonight and he gave himself a pat on the back for having such a huge belt buckle.

Jesse pushed himself up to his feet and retrieved his hat, slapping it against his thigh a couple times before plopping it back on his head. “I dunno if this really constitutes as being in the 'open'.”

Hanzo paused from making a hasty retreat, but didn't send the scowl over his shoulder. Instead he fished out his phone to check the time and continued on with minimal staggering. “We should return.”

Jesse followed, still in a very heightened state of arousal, but he wasn't gone enough to not notice the rigid pace Hanzo set or the fact that he was practically sober.

So he prayed, prayed to any deity that Jesse wasn't watching the walk of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the part were sex solves everything.
> 
> Right guys?


	17. Slippery Slope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter took longer than usual. Each word was like passing a kidney stone in that it hurt to inspect and critique and edit over and over to _try_ to get just the right emotion through in just the right amount without overstepping one way or the other.
> 
> Then I remembered it's a fanfic and we're just here for sex.

Hanzo was out of the gate before it fully opened, darting immediately to the left to leap up and scale the closest stack of large crates, reaching the high ground three seconds from the start. His bow was drawn before he cleared the top, sending the first arrow through the head of the first bot, the close proximity nearly shot the shaft completely through, the arrowhead pushing out the back to great the remaining two bots.

Unable to reload quick enough he leapt over the first as it clattered into sparks and whirled a flying kick into the second, sending it crashing into the third. Another arrow lodged the two together before they could right themselves. Hanzo paused only to grab the first arrow and pull it free, shoving the shaft between his teeth before he took a running start and launched off the stack to the next one, scraping down the surface until fingers hooked onto a ledge and he swung himself back up. He climbed back to the higher ground, the top was clear when he pulled himself over, so he turned his aim down toward the scenery below.

Training bots scattered throughout the warehouse, scurrying behind gigantic tarp covered storage or ducking behind outcroppings as cover. Several turned and fired in his direction, laser darts arching through the air toward him with aim bot accuracy but unpredictability. An arrow was fired before he ducked low, knowing it would land through the front most bot without having to look.

Keeping low he skirted the roof to the opposite ledge and leaned over the side to send off a sonic arrow to the furthest stack. Three bots huddled close to one edge, one occasionally turning to peak out in his direction. A well timed shot had the snooping one down and the other two piled out behind it, scrambling toward him.

With his position compromised he backtracked along the wall, spotted several coming from his left and dropped from the height, ending in a roll that had his bow up and firing through the first bot and he plowed through the second, slapping the small pistol aside he slammed his elbow down against it's neck snapping it clean. A quick sweep of Stormbow sent it skidding out into the open floor, the slide of warped aluminum screeched across the cement, sparking to a halt in the center. The sound drew the attention of all the nearby bots and they followed it out into the open, small pistols raised toward the hunk of junk. Hanzo picked off three before they could react.

Laser shots flew over his head, throwing him back behind cover. Drawing a scattershot arrow he whipped around the corner for a quick aim, but the two bots ducked behind a doorway. He released, aiming just inside the open doorway before running across the open ground. The satisfying spattering of pinging arrows finding their marks fell behind him.

He scaled the next set of crates, pushing further inside the dusty warehouse, hopped along the ledge behind a decommissioned helicopter. The bots gave chase, but paused as Hanzo slipped from their sight behind a tarp then disappeared altogether. They scrambled, searching frantically for the organic signature. Arrows fell like a volley on the confusion, all seeming to come from different directions, felling five more before the figure was spotted again, hopping along the rafters on the ceiling.

The crowd of bots had thinned significantly by the time Hanzo worked around his second loop. With the numbers dwindled so did his arrows and he had to resort to hand-to-hand to keep his quiver from depleting completely. Despite him being well practiced in the art the bots themselves were a peculiar challenge in that most lacked arms and legs completely, which meant he just smacked them aside until they toppled.

Down to his last three arrows Hanzo still had seven bots to finish off, cornered on the ground behind three short stacks of crates. With his back to the crates he held his breath, listening for the whir of motors as they neared. They came from both directions but the left was louder. He darted to his right, rounding the corner with Stormbow swinging first, trapping the lone bot across the neck and back against the crate. A powerful twist and the head popped off completely, rolling out from behind the crate and giving his position away. Four bots rolled in to overtake him, but was met with only the jerking body of the headless training bot. A creak from above had them jerk their heads and practice pistols upwards, firing before finding a target. The top crate groaned once more as it was rocked before gravity grasped the shifting weight and the bots below couldn't retreat in time when it fell. The thunderous shatter of splintered wood silenced them all.

Two remained. To draw them out Hanzo darted across the open floor, taking the chance, until laser shots speckled after his feet, the brightly lit spears that shot past him showed him their direction and position without glancing over his shoulder. All he had to do was regain the high ground and nail them while they were still out in the open.

That is, until Reinhardt stepped out right in his path with a large hand up in greeting and an oblivious grin across his face. “Hanzo!”

Without changing course Hanzo continued right at him, determination tightened his features and the mighty Crusader took a pre-emptive step back, startled, but to also prepare for a collision. It came in the form of a kick off, the archer leaping right at him, kicking off of Reinhardt's chest to propel him further into a higher backflip. Two arrows sailed through the air, pulled simultaneously, hitting one oncoming bot in the head and the second through the chest. They fell, their motors whirring a moment before sputtering out completely.

Hanzo himself landed in a crouch some feet away from the bewildered German. “I didn't realize you were busy.” Reinhardt blinked down at him.

“Are you injured?” Hanzo asked, straightening as he slid Stormbow over his shoulder.

Reinhardt wiped the bootprint off the lapel of his jacket with the shake of his head. “Just my pride.” he chuckled good naturally.

The suit he wore was of fine quality, the cut tailored to fit him well and the fabric top notch. However it has seen some better years, now fraying at the seams and discolored around the cuffs and collar.

“Is there something you require?” Hanzo frowned at the rumpled state of the once fine suit but kept his thoughts to himself.

Reinhardt looked a bit sheepish at the question and held up a simple red tie. “Do you know how to tie a tie?”

Brows arched for a moment before Hanzo gave a single nod and stepped forward to pull the tie from Reinhardt's fingers. He also had to beckon the larger man to lean down in order to even reach his neck. Tugging up the collar first he looped it around the neck then, with the same repetitive habit one had for tying shoe laces, made a quick and neat knot. “What is the occasion?”

Reinhardt brightened. “Ah. A wonderful woman with a talent as sharp as her wit. Brigette is her name. I have had the pleasure to meet her upon my travels and we've been through many an adventure together.” If Hanzo hadn't met the man in person he would have thought knights and paladins were the thing of stories.

“Your wife?” Hanzo asked, smoothing down the collar and settling it snugly at the base of Reinhardt's throat.

“No. No, nothing like that.” Reinhardt's tone turned downright mournful, one that was more off putting coming from the usually cheerful man and the short response offered nothing in the way of explanation. So, despite the curiosity Hanzo made no further comment on the subject.

“I have cologne as well if you wish to borrow some.” he offered instead.

The momentary sadness was forgotten and Reinhardt shook his head with a laugh. “That might be overkill. This is already pushing it as she is a woman of..ah..rough tastes.” he chuckled and gave Hanzo a knowing wink.

“Why do you wear this then?” Hanzo asked with a bemused cock of his brow, straightening out the lapels so they folded evenly.

“She likes to tease me.” Reinhardt smiled. “And I like her teasing me.” His laughter was infectious and even Hanzo dipped his head to chuckle softly.

The distant jingle of spurs stopped him short, yanking his attention to the entrance. It took Reinhardt several more moments to realize that McCree sauntered up to the open warehouse door and rapped his knuckles on the door frame.

“Hello!” Reinhardt turned to greet him with the rise of his large hand then dropped it to fiddle with the cuff.

Jesse nodded at him but glanced around at the lengthy trail of wrecked training bots curiously. “Have you seen Hanzo?”

“What do you mean? He's right...here...?” Reinhardt gestured to the spot Hanzo had been standing moments before only to find it vacant. He whirled around in search, hand pressed to his forehead in loss. “He is a quiet one.”

Jesse only hummed in agreement, chewing at his inner cheek as he tapped his fist on the doorway in a resigned gesture. “Yeah. Well, if you do see him tell him Torbjorn's back and um...he's looking into the bullets.”

“I will!” Reinhardt offered but Jesse had already pushed off the frame and headed back toward the base, hat low over his eyes.

As he walked he felt eyes on his back and he paused to glance over his shoulder. The sun had settled beyond the horizon, throwing the vast warehouse into it's own deep shadow, the sky lit with the wash of magenta and oranges behind the looming building. At the top stood a figure, just another antenna jaunting from the roof, but this one wore the slow flapping ribbons that cupped the lazy wind.

 

* * *

 

There is nothing in Illios. Nothing. It's hardly even a tourist town, though it was exceptionally beautiful.

No matter how much Jesse poured into the research of the area nothing came up that seemed significant to what Talon might want. It was baffling and frustrating all the same. The only thing that remained consistent was the appearance of the Reaper. That also was highly suspicious. Reaper never appeared to do anything, just walk by, float by, keeping to the shadows to remain unseen to civilians.

It was a trap. A distraction. A terrible one. Jesse couldn't believe how horrendously obvious it was. Clearly Talon wanted Overwatch to look in this direction away from something else, but the fact that there was nothing there that might convince the big OW that they were up to something on the small island had Jesse pulling at his hair enough times to nearly go bald.

Talon wasn't sloppy, and they certainly weren't amateurs. Jesse could not figure it out no matter how many times he worked the angles.

Illios, Greece, was a quiet town known for it's sandy white beaches, their friendly faces, and a small off and on archaeological dig site just outside of the town that hadn't procured anything of significance for decades.

Pushing himself away from the desk Jesse rubbed at his eyes, the strain from staring at a screen for several hours was starting to give him a headache.

He stood and stripped out of his sweats and into street clothes, grabbing his wallet and hat before heading out. It was his turn to drink.

What he really needed to get away from was the plaguing doubts rattling around in his head. The two of them haven't spoken since their return. Jesse was alright giving the man some space, not knowing if he crossed any kind of boundary or not. It wouldn't be the first time he ruined a relationship by thinking with his dick instead of his brain. Most likely wouldn't be the last, but that didn't make it any easier to harbor.

Running the scene over and over in his head he tried to remember the details what wasn't trembling muscles or parted lips. Tried to remember if he brought any discomfort or missed any kind of sign. If he could go back and redo it all over again maybe he could have made things right. Could have controlled himself and just sent Hanzo to bed like any sensible person.

Jesse slammed the truck door shut and revved up the engine with a glower. Who was he kidding? He wasn't a saint. If he could do it all over again he wouldn't be able to resist Hanzo's dare. He would have done it again, and again.

And again.

 

* * *

 

“I would say at least 60% of a competition is purely mental. 25% communication, 10% team compatibility. Which leaves only 5% to skill.”

...7...8...9... _Strong fingers ripping at his clothing._

“You might think skill would take up more, but when you're at the top of the top and there's only about fifty people that high you're all about the same skill level. They will head shot you if you're caught, they will not miss. You all know the game ins and outs, you all know the quirks and the little cheats.”

...12...13...14... _Just the hint of teeth, a threat of aggression._

“So what do you do if your opponent is the same or perhaps even better than you?”

...24...25...26... _The rough scratch of beard against his skin._

Hana's deadly grin flashed perfect teeth as she tapped her temple with a slim finger. “You have to get into their head.”

_Jesse McCree staring up from between his thighs, his eyes offering dark, sinful promises._

It was nearing eleven pm UTC and the tiny gym had long since been empty. Lena had spent her daily hour on the treadmill, occasionally spouting lyrics aloud to whatever song she had been listening to. Dr. Ziegler had taken up a stationary bike then did several loosening yoga stretches before leaving.

Hanzo was closing in on his sixth hour there. Having already exhausted both firing ranges, the training center, his own larger set up, and Torbjorn out of commission in his own testing of bullets. He was left with little else to do but to simply sweat.

He ached. He ached hours before, but the moment he slowed was when memories threatened to flood his senses. So he pushed on, past the physical exhaustion and into the bliss of running himself into the ground. Before he had touched himself once, allowing a momentary reprieve to try and stem the flow of sheer want to a trickle, but the end result left him twisted in the sheets and breathless, just as unsated as when he had started.

Hana had come in several hours before for her daily routine of cardio and stretches, but stayed for conversation. The one sided conversation. But she was a welcome distraction, even if not a very effective one, sitting cross legged between his shoulders on his back, bouncing as he worked through another set of standard push-ups.

“Like, what good is skill if you tilt easily? You start goading in game. You know, tea bagging and taunting. Some games something as simple as standing still can cause enough irritation to have them get super pissed.”

Hanzo only grunted, grateful she didn't expect much in the way of response, she was satisfied with just nods or huffs. He finished his set and settled on his elbows, keeping form, mentally timing himself while in in a plank.

“At the same time they will be doing that to you, so it's pretty back and forth. Trying to out tilt the other guy. Kinda tough when you all know each other and the _intimacy_ in all your play styles.” She continued, stretching out to drape over his back when he stopped moving, her head pillowed on his tuft of hair.

Hanzo held for as long as he could with the extra hundred pounds, arms starting to tremble as he slipped into the second minute until finally they gave out and he collapsed onto the padded floor. He mumbled something incoherent into the nylon.

“You work too hard.” Hana petted his hair, rolling over to prop her chin on his shoulder. “You aren't even part of the team and you work harder than anyone else here. Well, maybe besides Winston. Take a break. Watch a movie with me?”

Hanzo turned his head to reply, resting a warm cheek to the cool mat and debated the consequences of falling asleep where he lay. “I am too tired to watch a movie.” Sleep seemed feasible now at least.

“That's fine.” Hana smiled and sat up. “Come on, please? I'll pick a boring historical drama to sleep to.”

Hanzo pulled himself to his knees, Hana sliding off his back to her feet. “I could just as much retire to my-mrrnnph” His mouth was quickly covered by a small palm, cutting him off.

“Shhh sh sh. That's not the point. Besides, you owe me for ditching at my grand display.” She hummed. He arched a brow in silent question as she refused to remove her hand. “Shower and change, then be in rec room three.”

She wouldn't release the use of his mouth until he nodded. Hana smiled in return and twirled, practically skipping onto the ladies locker room. He simply shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, stumbling to the men's.

A quick cold shower later, long enough to scrub himself down but not enough for hands to linger, and he was soon settled in a plush couch, Hana cuddling at his side, watching an opening war scene. Set in the 15th century Joseon era of Korea, and with some artistic liberties, depicted in it's own way the struggle of what Sejong went through to better advance his people, including the creation of Hangul, and the vice of the Chinese and Japanese constantly prowling at it's borders, as well as betrayals and assassination attempts.

An interesting angle, Hanzo recalled the history _slightly_ different being on one of the attacking sides, but that was what history was, a matter of perspective. The narrator had a soothing voice that lured his eyelids to fall. Hana snuggled closer against him, a warm presence that was comforting in it's innocence. She was quite demanding but never required more than simply time spent together in the end.

Maybe in another lifetime, if he was a better man, he could enjoy these small pleasantries.

For now he allowed himself the moment of comfort, settling down and letting his eyes fall closed to the smooth timber of the narrator's flow. It rose and fell, the hint of a smile shaping the words, spiraling around him in it's own embrace.

At some point the voice dipped in pitch, the vowels rounded and strung out slow almost lazy in their roll, flowing like water, too smooth to be Korean as it teased his earlobe with the shallow scrape of teeth. It purred down the stretch of his neck and tickled at the sharp edge of his jaw, words slid across his skin and ghosted over his lips. They parted, wanting a taste, just one, to know what flavor forbidden fruit was. But the moment he did the warmth withdrew, teasing, tempting him to chase.

Jesse grinned before him, just out of reach and he felt like he was swimming in molasses toward the play of light that would disperse the moment he tried to touch him.

_You would look good on me._

All at once the welcoming visage that was McCree morphed into a furious Sojiro. The sudden blaze of trumpets fed the force as he roared and swung to strike Hanzo across the face. " _ENOUGH!_ ”

Hanzo was on his feet before he fully awoke, clutching at his chest as his heart pounded. It was only getting worse and each day that passed had him steering further away from the cowboy while his thoughts drifted closer.

The movie showed a grand battle with racing music that rose to it's climax. Hana mumbled sleepily on the couch still, roused by his absence, but Hanzo was already out the door and down the hall, spurned on by overwhelming frustration. He had to know, he had to find out, to prove to himself that this, whatever _this_ was, was nothing more than a fluke, a drunken escapade, an infatuation that ran out of his control.

By the time he turned down the short hall holding several dorms the dream had faded into a forgotten memory and Hanzo paused before the door labeled 'McCree, BAMF'. Being well after midnight McCree should be within and Hanzo rose his fist to knock. There he paused, glancing aside to Athena's panel glowing softly at the end of the hallway. She offered nothing to encourage or hinder him, only blipping softly in the faint glow. He shoved aside the idea of being watched as he finally rapped his knuckles against the door.

This will be glorious night number four of falling asleep slobbering, stinking drunk.

Genji had been scarce himself, probably holing up with that Shimbali master of his on the line. If things have escalated between the two brothers Jesse butting in and casually mentioning sucking off Hanzo and how he couldn't wash the taste out of his mouth _probably_ wouldn't fly well with an already upset Genji. Unfortunately that left him to his own devices, and that was nearly empty, dangling from his fingers as he laid sprawled on his back across his tiny bed.

Other than the European beer in the walk-in, alcohol was not allowed on base. In all honesty nobody could stop him as Jesse pulled in night after night toting several bottles of Ron de Motril only caught by Athena herself, but he had only waved her off each time she went over the restrictive code and left her behind his closed door.

This night was no different. Jesse only managed to kick one boot off before collapsing into a spread he wouldn't move from for several hours and was happily falling head first into oblivion when the sharp knock pulled him from his drowsy haze.

“Go 'way.” Jesse tried to bark, but it came out more like a forced groan.

The knock came again, harder this time and Jesse attempted to sit up, but fell back as the room swam around him. “I said go 'way!” Bother some'ne else.” he grumbled, tasting the rum again as he took another swig.

Light speared into the darkness from the door opening and Jesse winced away from the brightness. “Ya don' fuggin' listen!” he did shout this time, fingers wrapping around the closest object and chucked it toward the figure in the doorway.

The alarm clock flew threw the air, but never crashed in it's landing, caught instead by a steady hand. At least the offending light winked out as the door slid closed with a sigh. But the figure remained, the alarm clock shifted in the hands before he stepped forward and leaned in to set it down back on the desk.

“McCree.”

The voice had him up on his elbows, squinting through the darkness until a pale face floated into view, and it scowled something fierce down at him. “Han?”

The face turned aside and the bottle was tugged from Jesse's grip to swing up to Hanzo's lips and Jesse tore his gaze away from the long arch of his throat. “You are drunk.” Hanzo stated, assessing the state the man was in.

That slapped the bewildered look right off Jesse's face and his lip curled back in a defensive sneer. “It's my room, I can be drunk all I want, dammit!” He growled, swiping for the bottle, missing several times before finally snagging it out of Hanzo's hand and brought it to his own mouth. Empty.

“McCree.” Hanzo tried again only to be bit off.

“I ain't apologizing.” Jesse slurred less when he shouted, fingers grasping at Hanzo's short sleeve in attempt to push him away, but inadvertently pulled him closer to snarl at the too damn pretty face. “Yer as much fault as I am so don't give me horseshit about it.”

“You are right.” Hanzo agreed so readily, offering no resistance at being pulled forward, his own hand came to settle on Jesse's shoulder to steady himself. “I am.”

Jesse wasn't expecting agreement. In his head he had already conjured up half a dozen arguments and won them all, so he was prepared for any screwball sent his way. All except this one.

Anger seeped out of Jesse's clutch, bleary eyes searched Hanzo's steady ones for signs of deception. Finding none his resolve failed and all the fleeting promises how he would never so much as look at Hanzo again fell flat, forgetting why he had made them in the first place when the archer hovered so close.

“McCree.”

Jesse sat up fully, reaching to cup the side of Hanzo's angle cheek, forgetting his inebriated state, enraptured by the soft edge of lips that shaped his name that parted beneath the pads of his fingertips as they dared to wander again. He was hardly conscious of the fact that Hanzo didn't pull away. “Then why are you here?”

“I do not know.” Hanzo lied. He lied to keep his sanity, knowing full and well why he was there now. He knew as he spoke against the offered fingers sliding over the rough callouses, making Jesse's breath stutter and if that didn't sober Jesse then nothing would.

The bed dipped beneath Hanzo's weight as he slipped over Jesse's spread legs and straddled his lap. His fingers tugged at the shirt buttons, popping them open and slid his hands over the thickly furred and well defined chest.

There was nothing feminine about McCree. Nothing gentle or soft, the kindness he did have wasn't hidden, but was also not given easily. He was all aggression and bulk, blunt hands and dirty skin. Nothing Hanzo thought he cared for until it had nested somewhere deep in his long dead libido that wheezed and sputtered to life the moment McCree had touched him.

Slow as Jesse was in his condition he was quick enough on the uptake to pull his own shirt off and then grasp for Hanzo's, tugging at the hem to yank it up and over his head. Hanzo was all cut marble, pristine, especially with the cross cross of long faded scars. Next to Jesse's richer bronze he nearly glowed in the moonlight.

“Anyone ever tell ya how gorgeous you are?” Jesse all but gaped, sliding his hands down the broad chest in a fantasy he's held for a small eternity, squeezing the thick muscle, feeling it bunch and release beneath the skin.

“Yes.” Hanzo cared little for flattery, having heard it thousands of times before for one reason or another. Mostly when he was young and had longer hair and a smooth chin. He had grown to despise the word 'pretty' directed his way since then. His current interest was the broad shoulders, heavy with wear and tear, even McCree's skin was sturdy beneath his questing hands.

“An' that you smell good?” Jesse hummed, leaning in to draw breath at the base of Hanzo's neck, his fingers splayed across the flat mounds of Hanzo's chest, a thumb flicking over a dusky nipple. The scent of soap and lotion a thin overlay to the earthy undertones of sweat and musk that interested Jesse more than any flower or fruit.

“Yes.” Hanzo hissed, his fingers digging into the meat of Jesse's sides as he twitched, sucking dark skin between his teeth at the juncture of Jesse's neck and shoulder.

“An' that yer voice is scary an' sexy.” Jesse leaned in, prosthetic wrapped around Hanzo's back to press him into the awaiting mouth, licking along a defined tendon up his throat to nip at an earlobe.

“Nan-what?” Hanzo arched his neck into the gliding tongue, breathless despite so little actually happening. Already he was starting to swell as teeth scraped the shell of his ear. Jesse paused to lick the pad of his thumb then roll it back over the hardening nipple while he nipped at the meticulously trimmed jaw.

“Taste good too.”

Hanzo flushed, partially from the slurred compliment, and partially how the rough timber of his voice reverberated across his skin each time he spoke. He realized he was pressing firmly into the cowboy's exploring mouth, sighing at the sweep of one hand as they gripped and kneaded the sensitive nub to firmness. He could only hang on at the ministrations, his own hands buried in the messy tangle of dusty brown hair. Blunt fingernails scraping across Jesse's scalp had the cowboy moan in Hanzo's ear, deep and rustic.

Hanzo nearly lost it, his blood surged at the sound and so did he, shoving Jesse onto his back, wrists pinned over his shoulders to cease his antics. Closing his eyes Hanzo stilled over him and willed his heart to slow and his breathing to return to some semblance of control. It didn't help when Jesse bent his knees behind him, bumping against his backside giving him a better angle to buck up against Hanzo's hips as he leaned up to try and lick across Hanzo's mouth in attempt to lure him into a kiss.

But that isn't what he wanted. Hanzo turned his head aside to avoid the caress of lips against his.

_Yes it was._ Denied the kiss Jesse sucked along Hanzo's collar bone instead, sloppy and unrefined and _glorious_.

No, it _wasn't_! As if to punctuate his own thought Hanzo rolled his hips and ground down against McCree until the larger man squirmed and whimpered his name. He was here to purge himself. To flush McCree out of his system and to move on.

With the reinforced goal Hanzo pulled away completely, releasing the wrists to tear at the front of Jesse's jeans, not stopping until they were chucked around McCree's ankles, followed by his boxers and the cowboy viciously wriggled to kick them off. His cock sprung free, rolling across his belly and already draping a thin gossamer strand through the thatch of hair. In another fit of movement Hanzo pulled himself free and shifted over the man to align them together, then gripped them both tightly with the squeeze of his palm.

“Han...Hanners....HanzooOO...” McCree purred the moment warm fingers wrapped around their shared girth. Hanzo was a silent steady force hovering above McCree, that practiced restraint in full effect, even if his fingers pulled grunts from the cowboy. His thumb pressed just beneath the glans of Jesse's cock, dragging up and over the weeping tip to press firmly over the slit.

The spiral toward a comfortable bliss was a slow and steady pull, one Jesse was usually inclined to drift along with the flow. He should have been content with how it was already, watching the curl of the corded tattooed arm twist to smear the sticky secretion, offering enough slide for fingers without losing the pressure. It was nice, but it would be sweeter if he could just hear that voice sing again.

Dragging his fingers across Hanzo's clenched back Jesse slipped them beneath the elastic waistband of those infuriating shapeless sweatpants Hanzo only seemed to wear these days, dragging them down the enticing curve of his ass while drawing his thumbs down the back of powerful thighs. That chipped away at the the rigid form as Hanzo bowed over him, pressing his forehead against Jesse's shoulders, then shivered none too faintly when Jesse slipped his fingers back up between his legs and along the cleft.

The shudder should have been confirmation enough, but it was the hot breath and faint groan that lit a fire beneath Jesse's ass and he bucked and twisted, overturning them onto the archers back despite the grunt of protest and wrapped his large human hand around Hanzo's own where he gripped them both, pumping them hard and fast and sudden.

Jesse only paused to squeeze a thick dollop of pre onto a metallic finger, then started up again as he reached down beneath Hanzo, prodding for the tight ring of muscle, simply applying pressure until it gave enough to push within.

It was distracting enough to keep from being pinned again, to pull Hanzo out of his stubborn silence, panting and moaning against Jesse's neck as he clung to his shoulder. “..Jesse..!” his voice broke, spilling into a soft wail that had Jesse grasping tightly for the reigns of his own control.

Jesse was determined to make a lasting impression though, pushing further into the shivering archer past his second knuckle. He latched to Hanzo's ear, cooing softly and encouraging him to relax. Once his digit was received with no protest and stretched until there was little resistance did it immediately curl, seeking out the raw bundle of nerves that Hanzo had reacted to before. The familiar jolt that rippled through Hanzo's limbs encouraged Jesse's angle, pushing firmly as each thrust built until he felt teeth sink into his shoulder and metal heels dig at the small of his back.

Hanzo shuddered and cried out his release into the shoulder, bucking up into their joined fists to paint stripes across their chests. Jesse groaned out his own to the clenching body in his arms and the scrape of nails down his back that would undoubtedly leave welts.

Once the initial whiteout subsided Jesse settled on his side, catching his breath as he watched the play of emotions twitch across Hanzo's noble brows as he fell from his own high. Jesse wanted to smooth them away, but he wouldn't do so with a sticky hand, so he leaned in to press a kiss to his temple instead. Hanzo turned into the gesture, just enough to mingle steadying breaths and nuzzle his nose against a scruffy cheek. “Anata wa attakeidesu.” He breathed, one leg still draped over Jesse's hips as he fought the tug of sleep rising to drag him down.

Jesse chuckled, “You know I can't understand a thing you say.” Fingers traced over Hanzo's chest, smearing the mess into patterns matching the edge of the tattoo.

As if remembering were he was Hanzo pushed himself to sit, scowling down at the mess that dripped down his chest into the folds of his belly. He gave a tut of annoyance and Jesse could only flop back onto the single pillow with another rolling chuckle. Hanzo was beautifully tussled, even if his hair was still caught in the tie, strands had pulled free to haze around his usually sharp features.

The bed bounced when Hanzo stood up, but before he could retreat to the small bathroom his wrist was caught and tugged. "Release me. I need to clean myself."

“Are ya comin' back?” Jesse asked. The question wasn't innocent, even if the hopeful lift of his eyes were, but the tight press of his lips belayed that he knew the answer already.

Hanzo paused a moment, glancing over McCree's own tousled form, still slick with perspiration and just as inviting. His gaze settled on Jesse's taut lips and he glanced aside.

“Not tonight.” Hanzo said, then pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new Mei animated short is out. It's awful cute.
> 
> I can't wait to see how Overwatch takes down Talon with 9 years of Antarctic climate data.


	18. Mamhlapinatapai

Saying Torbjorn was 'portly' was being generous. The mas was a living mythical dwarf, complete with full beard and a vocal case of tourettes. He was almost always filthy, being a true mechanic, but he held a passion for his craft that bordered on genius which explained away the total lack of self conduct among others. There was no working garage on the base, but the abandoned hangers were put to use fairing just as well, so the Swede claimed Hangar 3 and chased everyone else out with a cattle prod.

“I did have a look at your bullets. That's quite the collection you got there.” Torbjorn kicked aside several turrets too far gone to be repaired, but couldn't seem to disassemble them for scraps either.

Both Genji and Hanzo had to duck under loose hanging wires to follow the blonde to the deeper bowels of his makeshift workshop. One of the offices inside was also converted, but this one was more organized. Not any less cluttered, but fit together like a tetras puzzle, everything had their place and everything was in it.

Once inside the door was shut and then sealed with a whirl of gears, the soft hiss of an air filter started up, dropping the temperature of the room to just under chilly. The brothers paused at that, glancing to each other then down to Torbjorn for an explanation.

“Working with questionable and unpredictable weapons requires safety precaution.” The Swede offered, raising bushy brows at the two, as if daring them to argue.

“I am pleased to know you take our concern seriously.” Hanzo stated, scanning the plethora of tools and holo blue prints stacked along the walls.

“Good to know there isn't a worthless Shimada on base.” Torbjorn shot back, slapping a soldering iron out of Genji's hands with a bark.

Hanzo liked him immediately.

Genji fumbled to put it back and quickly bowed his apologizes, even if his gaze crept to another shining tool of interest.

Grumbling, Torbjorn kicked up his stool toward the desk, giving him height as he sat. “Just pull up anything to sit on. Don't get much in the way of company back here.” he said with a disinterested wave of his hand.

Pulling up a crate Hanzo waited patiently as each of the items Genji chose was rejected to comments of 'don't touch that!' and 'that's worth more than you!' until the cyborg gave up and decided to stand, hands grasping behind his back instead.

“Now.” Torbjorn huffed through his mustache and unfolded a black mat before carefully placing one of the bullets in the center with a large pair of tweezers. The darkened mat contrasted heavily with the gleaming metal, exposing much of the details. “You were made to swallow this, yes?”

The bullet casing had been already cut about the base and Torbjorn lifted it free of the contents, revealing the faint pulse of the blue glow beneath. The familiar sight of micro tubes bundled together into a singular form nearly had his stomach roll in memory.

“Yes.” Hanzo answered, loathed to lean closer to inspect the details. “I was told Dr. Ziegler did not find the casing itself, but nanobots.”

“Correct. This particular article contains about...500 of the bots. Each tube about twenty.” The tweezers returned, tugging apart the compacted tubes and splaying open each delicate stem from the bundle.

“She said she found them dormant.”

“Mhm. These ones here are completely shut down.”

“So why's it glowing?” Genji pointed out.

“That glow is not the bots, Ditt jävla ålahuvud. These tubes protect the transfer from the weapon into the poor sod getting shot." Torbjorn snorted as if that was obvious. "The bots themselves are turned off, shut down, slutet."

"What turns them on?" Genji sighed.

"Best question you've asked so far!" Torbjorn burst with unforeseeable excitement, yanked open a drawer, and slipped on thin rubber gloves. "This is where it gets creative."

Strapping on a thick set of goggles the Swede adjusted the magnifying intensity until he was satisfied. "Hand me that dish there." he pointed to a plastic tupperware container that Hanzo slide over.

Popping open the lid Torbjorn lifted a raw chicken wing from the container and laid it across the mat. Now Hanzo sat back, arms crossed as he regarded the mechanic, but before he spoke Torbjorn held up a stumpy finger for silence.

Using the tweezers he very slowly lifted a single tube from the spindle and slipped it inside a small slit within the raw meat, a tapeworm wriggling through the tissue as he pushed it inside fully.

One moment turned to two before the raw chicken blossomed. The pale blue light shimmered through the flesh, a sheen so faint it could be missed entirely, but under the concentrated light and stares it looked almost beautiful.

"They wake in contact with anything organic."

Hanzo refused to lean further away, "To do what?"

The shimmer sparkled a moment then faded and all three were left just staring at a piece of chicken.

"Don't know. They spread then fall into sleep mode. Practically invisible. I haven't been able to knock out their programming, since they don't exactly have an 'on' switch. That's more Winston's expertise anyway." Torbjorn peeled off his gloves and tossed them onto the black mat. "Far as I know they're just waiting."

"For what?" Genji leaned over to pluck up the spindle. If it's trigger was organic materiel he didn't exactly have to worry.

"Might as well ask me why haven't utilized the second law of thermodynamics and the violation of Maxwell's demon to create micro thin insulation." Stark confusion wasn't noticed right away, but at the odd looks from both brothers Torbjorn sighed and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Of course we cannot know the reason. Is there anyway to know when they might activate though?" Hanzo questioned.

"Could do some more digging I suppose. Could be a timer, sensory stimulation..."

"Remote?" Genji offered, and to Hanzo that made the most sense of the offered suggestions. Considering the lengths and extent that has been put into dispensing these things not to mention the reasoning behind not choosing simpler means to spread the nanobots. Why not the water? Right into the air? Would be easier, wouldn't it? Cheaper? Is the water filtration system that sensitive? Was the risk of loosing too many into the atmosphere too high?

Lost in his thought, fingertips drumming at the jut of a cheekbone Hanzo nearly missed another shimmer pulse through the chicken meat even though he was staring right at it. However, he didn't miss the twitch and the shudder that followed.

"Put that thing down. You're gonna drop it and spill it everywhere." Torbjorn's attention was barking up at Genji who was peering closely at the naked spindle.

A convulsive lurch from the dead meat and a slow ripple as the raw muscle bunched and relaxed had Hanzo slowly rise from his seat on the crate and take a cautious step back.

"I won't drop it, I have enhanced vision too." Genji didn't fold at the snarl this time, holding the spindle out of reach as Torbjorn made a snatch for it.

The chicken wing flopped, slapping wetly halfway off the black mat and onto the desk.

"Sore o oku." Hanzo's warning growl had Genji about to argue further, until he too saw the twitch of the chicken. He quickly tossed the spindle back onto the desk as if it had burnt him, were it rolled in a small semi circle before bumping against the trembling raw meat.

Torbjorn shot up from his seat and Genji backed away further, "What's it doing? How's it moving?!"

"They attach to the nervous system, that's were she found them. A complete overhaul would be almost imp-" Torbjorn was cut off from his analytical discovery as the seizing chicken wing flipped completely off the desk and landed with a wet slap on the floor. The spindle followed, rolling smoothly off the desk and tumbling end over end before it landed, shattering on the cement floor. A light billow of dust escaped the tubing confines and dissipated into the air.

"OUT!" Torbjorn shouted, the brothers were collectively shoved through the door, stumbling as he plowed after them and threw the door closed again, the gears turned and the seal tightened. He pounded at the panel by the entrance until a large red panel appeared marked 'EMP', then slammed his fist against it.

The shockwave never exceeded the room itself, but the rolling press of an air pulse was unnerving all the same.

"Athena!" Torbjorn gruffed, poking at the keypad. "I'll need a sweep in Hanger 3, and get the chemical showers ready, we're gonna need them."

"Sweeping of Hanger 3 commencing." Athena chimed.

"You boys alright?" Torbjorn finished his tapping and glanced to the brothers.

"I think I-"

"We're fine."

"-chipped a tooth."

Hanzo stood on alert, ready for action. Genji less inclined, slumped and rubbed at his face mask.

"Good. Get your asses to the showers, make sure you're cleaned. When you're done there gather the rest and put them into quarantine. Looks like these ones have been woken up." Torbjorn spat. "And for God's sake, don't drop them!"

 

* * *

"Taiwan erupts into chaos. Local authorities have their hands full trying to keep the shootings off of the streets. If you are just tuning in two rival gangs have taken their fighting outwards within Taipei and now into New Taipei. The shootings started around 7am this morning and have since grown through the districts. The current count is 14 dead and 36 injured, 24 of which are civilians. Loot mobs have started to form and expand southward which have grown increasingly more violent as the numbers rise.

"We go now to the analytical desk and Chen Ya-Ting for a look into the reasons as to why this might have started."

Hanzo rested his chin on his knuckles, the television on mute as he read the translation beneath the screen as the news hadn't reached a global scale yet and was only still broadcast through southern China. Taiwan was where he had first found the bullets so naturally that was where he looked first. There was no proof that the two events were linked; the incident in the workshop and now Taiwan, but Hanzo couldn't ignore the coincidence.

Tapping the dispossable chopsticks on the side of the bowl he resisted the urge to check his phone. There would be no new messages. He hadn't logged onto the server were he spoke with his sponsor since he had left Japan, and since he had destroyed his old phone, keeping quiet and laying low, they wouldn't have known if he was alive until he did log in. But the danger seemed so far away, worlds away, and he itched to be out again, Stormbow in hand.

'The best' is purely a speculative term. One that fluctuates over time and qualities. Hanzo didn't know if he was the best, but he was certainly good enough to be sought out by name. An alias. So much that he had accepted a sponsor that offered only top jobs and often secretly exclusive ones that truly suited him. And paid well. The sponsor received about 3%.

Still, it gave him purpose, even it if was a little warped. Keeping himself sharp for the assassins after him that had slowly dwindled over the years. Maybe he would be forgotten completely and finally left alone.

Beside one monitor sat a picture frame with the photo Genji gave to him as a peace offering the second time they had met. It portrayed them, younger. Genji with his wide glittering grin and Hanzo more resigned standing stiffly next to him. Tucked into the corner of the frame was the smaller black and white photo that he kept at all times. Even if they forgot him he could never do so himself.

"But enough of me. I wish to hear your opinion." The serene male voice drifted from the second monitor and interrupted his debate as his thumb ghosted over the screen of his phone.

"You've tried that already." Hanzo didn't miss a beat, taking a bite instead without glancing to the image of the omnic monk that floated against the soft blue of the sky of the video feed.

This was the first session he had with Tekhartha Zenyatta. Genji's master. The same Shimbali monk that had given him peace of soul and Dr. Ziegler had personally asked to aid with Hanzo's own. Which was why Hanzo had the Chinese news on mute just to the monk's left in the first place.

"I am glad to receive a response this time." Zenyatta seemed to smile as he spoke. It wasn't seen, but somehow it was present. The omnic seemed to have taken to heart her request, perhaps with some words from Genji as well, and Zenyatta took the saying 'kill them with kindness' to whatever metallic heart he did have, and proceeded to do so. Both knew Hanzo didn't want to be here, and both knew his dislike of omnics.

Hanzo finally glanced to him, chewing the rest of the noodles before he leaned in. "I don't know what he wants."

"We are not discussing Genji."

Hanzo sat back and pushed his bowl aside. "Repeat the question." There was no disguising the firm command.

"How are you enjoying your time in Spain?" Zenyatta asked, unperturbed by the clear demand.

"I am not."

"I understand southern Spain has wonderful beaches."

"Perhaps it does, but I've been confined to this base for recovery."

"Would you like to see them?"

"No."

Zenyatta paused, canting his head as if to catalog the answer away for later before continuing. "Where would you rather be?"

"Home." The word was out before Hanzo could stop it and it took everything in his power to keep himself from flinching at his own answer.

If Zenyatta noticed he gave no reaction. "Where is home, Shimada-san?"

Recovering from his slip up Hanzo shook his head and turned his attention back to the muted news. "Next question."

Now the feed was showing areal shots of a burning building, a department store in the commercial district billowed smoke out of the bottom windows. One thing was for sure, a political figure was going to go down soon. He glanced down to his phone again before remembering himself and tossed it onto the desk with a clatter.

The silence swelled. It was more distracting than the footage of people running in the streets, which was just repeating the events. Taking up his bowl Hanzo leaned back in his chair and took another bite. "Ask."

A butterfly had landed on Zenyatta's outstretched fingers and it was clear he spent the silence admiring the shimmery blue wings. Let it be known that no monk, human or otherwise, seemed more at peace than this omnic did right at this moment. Hanzo glowered at the image.

"I understand you two are at odds again."

"That isn't a question."

"It is a lead-in."

"To what?"

Zenyatta spread his fingers as the butterfly fluttered free, loping in the air before drifting off screen. "What will you do after your recovery?"

Hanzo swallowed before answering. "Return to what I have been doing before."

"A hired assassin."

"If that is what is required."

"And how is your quest for redemption going?" Zenyatta returned to his relaxed position, fingers interlocking in his lap.

The order of questions wasn't lost on Hanzo and he glared tightly at the omnic. "You state your judgement quite plainly."

The monk canted his head. "What I think is irrelevant here. I was merely curious if they were indeed one and the same."

Hanzo caught himself growing defensive, biting off an angry comment before it formed. Inhaling deeply he glanced at the time and then the news broadcast. "It was." he stated, slowly, articulately, returning his dark stare to the monk.

Zenyatta clung to the heavy words. "Oh? What has changed?" He seemed to lean in, as if that would allow him to hear the answer better.

7,000 Kilometer's apart and Hanzo had to resist the urge to lean away. "Our time is up."

Disappointment seemed to radiate from the monk and Hanzo was unsure as to how he could tell. Zenyatta had no facial expressions to read, the slots indicating his eyes and mouth were cut in a manner to give off the least aggressive implications. Perhaps it was made up in body language, which the omnics didn't seem to have a lack of. For now Zenyatta's narrow shoulders almost slumped.

"So it is. Well, I have learned much, but I do still have questions that I will require before I speak with Dr. Ziegler. Until then." His hand lifted, fingers elongated yet graceful in it's own hard steel.

Hanzo's finger was already hovering over the call end button, waiting out the farewell as he did say he would make an effort into being polite. He offered a curt nod before the screen went black.

That was were it ended. Shutting off the news as well Hanzo snagged his discarded bowl and headed to the mess. If Dr. 'Mercy' Ziegler wanted a psycho-evaluation on him she should have hired a shrink. He didn't know _why_ she wanted them in the first place, though. Perhaps to see if he was stable enough to be around Genji. Nevermind the fact that Genji came to him first and then willingly stuck around.

Their current rough patch had Hanzo hoping Genji would see the error in his judgement. All he had to do was say the word and Hanzo would simply disappear. Forever. No questions or regrets.

Hanzo rubbed at his eyes as he made his way down the hall, the morning still starting even if he had been awake several hours. He could use a distraction. A large, tan, hairy distraction.

The mess was surprisingly a buzz with activity. In the old Overwatch there were protocols and restrictions. Rules that seemed strange, but necessary to keep the secrets they did have safe and out of gossip. There were conference rooms and meeting halls, all sound proof and monitored closely, but since the recall the numbers had shrunken considerably. Instead of hundreds of agents at any given base the entirety of the operation shrunk down to a grand total of seven. Now eight, including Hana.

So, discussions were open, meeting rooms bypassed to talk instead over coffee and donuts at the rickety tables. Everyone was in everyone's business and often shared ideas. The level of trust was outstanding and foolish, if Hanzo would offer his own thoughts on the matter. Winston huddled with Lena and Angela, their heads bowed low over a tablet shared between them as they discussed what Hanzo could only assume was the Vishkar issue. Reinhardt and Torbjorn argued loudly at what Hanzo came to learn was typical conversation between the two, leaving McCree and Genji hovering around the coffee maker and kettles.

Hanzo made his way to the sink to scrub out his bowl and set it aside before grabbing up a kettle and set it filled over a burner, flicking on the heat.

"It's recon. One agent will do." McCree waved his own large mug of his freshly brewed engine oil.

"You know the reason we run in pairs. Reaper is there. _THE_ Reaper. You'll be walking into a death trap." Genji carried a bottle of what looked like an oatmeal smoothie, complete with straw even if he still had his face plate on making the whole drink pointless.

"We don't exactly have the numbers to reinforce that rule. Oxford's taking the weekend to spend with Emily. Winston, Angela, and Torbjorn are neck deep in that stuff you guys brought in. Rei-"

"I will go." Hanzo interjected, grabbing whatever awful teabag Lena stocked to set in his mug of water he poured off. Still was better than coffee.

Both turned to regard him, Genji immediately shaking his head. "I already said I will. You are still in recovery."

"Besides, you ain't an agent. Kinda 'nother rule of ours. Not that you aren't capable, just gotta take responsibility."

"Then I will go as a civilian. Whatever label you need to put on your tax form." Hanzo blew off McCree's explanation.

Jesse pressed his lips together, regarding Hanzo sternly as the archer casually sipped at his English tea, holding his gaze over the rim. Genji shifted awkwardly at the silent eyeballing battle. "Do we even do taxes...?"

McCree knew that look, the steady piercing gaze. It did thinks to the gunslinger that was mostly easily hidden by feigned anger. "It's dangerous." he stated stupidly, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance.

"Which is more a reason for me to go." Hanzo, however, didn't seem to have to hide anything, remaining at ease, one hip reclined against the counter. "I must protect my brother."

Genji snorted. "Now I know you're lying."

"Do not be absurd. Your protection is now my sworn duty." Hanzo shifted his attention to the cyborg, away from the twitching McCree.

A sardonic Hanzo and a sexually charged Hanzo looked exactly the same from a distance, but Jesse had quickly learned the difference the past few days. A casual stance that hid the tiger-like recoil before the pounce, the occasional drumming of impatient fingers, the narrowed black gaze that had Jesse already mourning the loss of his current shirt. He learned within the communal showers, pressed hard against unforgiving tile. Learned as he was shoved feet first into a hall closet, hand clamped tightly over his mouth as the wall was shared with Angela's office. There was little warning and even less care in handling. What they did was fast, hard, and dirty, chasing a single high that was just as addicting as any drug.

Despite his better judgement Jesse _was_ addicted. He should be insulted, he should be angry and push away for old fashioned morality's sake, but when that mouth burns at his neck or those hard fingers slide down the front of his pants morality be damned, all he wanted was skin. The only regret he could muster was not having the archer writhe beneath him again.

"Boredom seems to have warped your brain, dear brother." Genji's posture was all cocky antagonizing, his dull oatmeal shake starting to separate as it remained untouched.

"I fear it has grown addled. Much like yours." Hanzo shot back with less heat but clear venom. Bitter, but with little effort.

"Maybe now it can be put to good use." Genji snarked.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jesse threw up his hands between the two of them. "I ain't bringing either of you if you're going to be right dickholes to each other the entire time." The two actually had more in common than either cared to admit and no one dared to point out. It was almost laughable if it wasn't so terrifying.

Two spotlights turned to face Jesse and for a brief moment he thought he would melt under their heat, but of all people Jesse could handle head on fury and held his own against the both of them. Hanzo came to himself first, realizing Jesse wasn't moving an inch. So he turned back to Genji and offered a small, stiff bow. "Gomensai." which the cyborg gave in return, a little more clumsily and unsure which direction the game had gone suddenly.

"When do we leave?" Hanzo asked, the matter already behind him.

"Where are we going?" Hana yawned, shuffling up between the brothers and casually leaned into Hanzo's side, hooking her chin over his shoulder. A bowl of colorful cereal popped and sizzled in it's milk as she lazily stirred the contents.

Jesse frowned. "We don't need a third, much less a fourth." Hana was just being cute, a girl among men, a diva among coal miners. That her hands on greetings was just that, and he shouldn't be starting to find it a bit annoying.

"C'mon, McCree. It'll be the four of us again. Just like old times." She winked from beneath her floppy bunny eared beanie.

"That was last month." Jesse crossed his arms, coffee mug balancing on his bared bicep.

"Pfft, last week, last month. I'm 19! That's old times for me." She grinned, crunching down on a spoonful of the obnoxious cereal.

Genji nudged Jesse with an elbow, trying to give a look that was lost behind the faceplate, but Jesse read just as easily. "Yeah, she can come with us. Why not? Should be quiet and easy."

Hana beamed a milky grin up at him.

Jesse scrubbed tiredly at his jaw, defeated without a fight. "Like old times, then. We leave tonight. No carrier for us, we'll take the train since Lena will be out. Pack for two weeks, hopefully we'll only stay for one."

"What's the weather?" Hana thrummed with excitement. Her first official mission.

"I dunno, warm I guess. We're out to Greece, some island there."

Hana shot to attention and saluted, then bounced off to get ready. Genji followed, still holding his untouched gruel.

Hanzo remained, but his tiger-like prowess had decreased. Instead he sipped at his tea, watching McCree curiously.

"Don't give me that look." Jesse grumbled, turning back toward the coffee to top himself off. He added just enough cream to chase away the metallic tang of cheap processed grounds.

"Let me tell you about Koreans and what they consider personal space." Hanzo started.

"S'not that." Jesse muttered, knuckling his eye to dig out some old sleepy dirt.

Hanzo straightened, "Then what is it really?"

Jesse turned to scan the rest of the hall, noting everyone was a good distance away and not within earshot before he looked back to Hanzo. "There's rumors about Reaper. Hints, clues. He didn't show up in Talon until after the explosion. I haven't met him personally but there's little doubt left from Winston's analogies. He very much could be Reyes."

Hanzo raised both brows in mild surprise. Neither name meant much to him personally, but he was listening.

He listened so Jesse felt inclined to continue. "Reyes was smart. Wait, no. Smart is when you keep your head down, follow the rules. Good at math. Can spell every goddamn word in the English language. Knows the exact distance between here and mars in centimeters. No, no. Reyes was intelligent. The terrifying kind. The kind were you're sure there's something knocked loose upstairs, but subtle about it, enough that you wouldn't notice for years." Jesse's gaze grew distant. "The kind that knew it."

"I am aware of the sort." Hanzo broke the beginning of silence as Jesse seemed to have gotten lost in the billowing of cream through his coffee.

McCree forced his shoulders back down and huffed half a laugh. "Then ya know what I'm talkin' about. Guy was a strategic genius. What took Jack 'smart' Morrison three squads and two airstrikes, Reyes could do with three soldiers and a handful of rubber-bands." Jesse waved his coffee at the archer, the tension through his chest lifted the more he spoke. "All while sipping espresso in Vienna."

"When did you first notice how he was?"

Jesse did laugh then, an attempt to cover his own foolishness. "After the Swiss headquarters crumbled."

"You weren't there." Hanzo stated slowly.

"No. I count my lucky stars I decided on a vacation at the time."

"On that date."

Jesse nearly spilled his coffee in cutting him off. "OH no. I've already been accused of that. I did _not_ know." This time the coffee did spill as he jabbed the mug towards Hanzo's trail of thought.

Hanzo frowned down at the mug, "I am not accusing-"

"Been in and out of courtrooms and under rumors and gossip before I decided disappearing was much easier to bare. That would be the start of my long string of bounties."

Fingertips touched at the swaying mug, carefully righting the ceramic to keep the coffee within. "I think," Hanzo'e voice dropped to an uncharacteristically soft tone. "That you," The mug lifted from his grip completely and clanked lightly on the counter top. "Do not think highly enough of yourself."

Jesse's brows furrowed as he watched the path of his morning pick up set aside before glancing back to the archer.

There it was again, the black eyes that seemed so familiar and yet had never seen them ever before. However they weren't black, a dark hazel that churned deep. Jesse felt like he exposed more than he intended. That he offered a word and Hanzo managed to read a novel.

"Perhaps you did notice, yet remained unaware. Our...judgments can be clouded to those we are close to." Hanzo continued.

The moment felt intimate without touching. Exposing without undressing. Instead of a weight lifted Jesse felt pulled further down into the depths. The news of Reyes was upsetting, but in hindsight it wasn't very surprising. He always had strong opinions about Morrison and Overwatch itself, especially after the promotion. It wasn't comfort Jesse needed, just answers.

"Would you like to talk about it?" The question was asked a second time before Jesse heard it and he shook himself from his momentary stupor.

"Nah. Not really." Jesse let out a light sigh, grounding himself in the noisy mess hall with florescent lights once again. He could use a distraction. A solid, toned, tattooed distraction.

"Then I will borrow you for.." Hanzo didn't miss the shift, raking his gaze along McCree's form for a sultry moment, "Target practice."

Jesse was distracted. He didn't fight it, didn't want to. He eased back on his heels, flicked up the brim of his hat and cracked a crooked grin. "Lead on, partner."

 

* * *

 

The train was roomy, the journey about 24 hours with several stops along the way in several countries, so the cars themselves were equipped with private rooms and a dining cart. Even the caboose had swivel chairs for sight seeing as they traveled across the southern European landscape. McCree was thankful the sightseeing car was used mostly for napping so it was quiet with no small talk banter. Here he could mentally prepare.

A solid thump landed in the chair beside him and it swiveled around to reveal Genji in a colorful Hawaiian shit and fanny pack. He held a mimosa, but apparently he's picked up the act of holding drinks to seem a little more human. A detail nobody should consciously notice.

"Whatcha doing here?" Genji asked, crossing his legs in the wide seat.

"Thinkin'." Jesse leaned over to snatch the champagne flute from Genji's hand and downed it in a single gulp.

"About Reaper? Reyes?" Genji didn't protest the theft of his drink, he could always get another.

"Doesn't it bother you? The idea?" Jesse pressed. The two haven't exactly touched on the subject, having been taboo years ago.

Genji gazed out the window, the chair creaking as he swung it back and forth. "We saw it coming. We saw _something_ coming, you and I. Considering, Reyes was hardly a good guy, which was why he was so good at what he did. Having come from such a situation already I saw it almost immediately. Something was going to give." He paused to glanced sideways at Jesse. "You suspected as well."

Jesse shook his head, "I didn't know a damn thing."

"I didn't say that, I said you _suspected_. If you want to admit to or not." The squeaking stopped as he did. "After all, you didn't follow him."

McCree licked over his teeth and fell into a nod. "I sure didn't."

Genji lifted his head and cocked it to the left, indicating a smirk. "You should give yourself more credit. You're level headed when you need to be."

"He taught me many things."

"But not everything. Jesse." Genji leaned over to grab McCree's beard and gave his head a rough shake. "We don't owe him anything. Nothing. You get that? He chose where he is now."

Jesse snerked and pulled out of Genji's grasp. "I can't take you seriously in that get up." He was right, of course. Which only confirmed his own doubts. "You've already forgiven a betrayal, though."

Genji stiffened, as if he had completely forgotten, that he in fact, did. "That's different." he shook his head quickly.

"How's it different?"

Whatever foolish banter or playfulness Genji sported hardened into the fighter he truly was; terrifying, even in the tourist clothes. "Did Reyes leave everything behind? His family, his successful future to become nothing? To return year after year to try and find some hope of forgiveness for what he _did_ do?"

Jesse didn't like it. He really was a hopeless romantic sometimes, and he still wanted to cling onto the slimming hope that Reyes was resting in peace, an innocent among the many during that catastrophe years before. "No."

"No." Genji echoed, settling back to let the dark moment pass.

"I do owe him one thing though, if I do see him." Jesse stated.

"Oh? What's that?"

"A good pistol whip at the base of his skull."

They both snickered.

Jesse reclined heavily, rolling his head to glance at the cyborg. "What about you and Hanzo? How's that...that going?"

Genji tensed a brief moment, but released with a shrug. "It's going."

"Hard to tell with you both scratching at eyes. He still being stubborn?" McCree was subtle, but he still wanted to know if he was doing something, anything, to ...help. That's what it was, he was helping out. In his own venereal way.

"No. Well, yes. Ten years is difficult to undo. He's still convinced he's not worthy or some other such horseshit. What he seems to have forgotten is that, you know, I want redemption as well." Genji grew fidgety and the chair started to creak again as he rocked it back and forth. "I wasn't a good brother, I did make his life hell towards the end there. I didn't then, but I see it now. What he did didn't exactly come out of the blue."

Jesse just watched the purple mountains slowly shift on the horizon. "What did you do?"

Genji hums quietly. "Maybe I'll tell you one day."

"Where's he now?" Jesse spun the empty glass in his metallic fingers, admiring the fragile crystal wrapped within his steel.

"I don't know, ignoring Hana making eyes at him somewhere I guess." Genji's irritation bordering on jealousy was embarrassingly easy to read.

"That still going on?" Jesse attempted to sound indifferent.

"I guess. She's a movie star, she can have anyone she wants in the entire world." He then grumbled something incoherent under his breath in irritation.

Jesse stood, ready for a mimosa without the orange juice. Or champagne. Bourbon, that's what he was ready for. "What was that?"

Genji groaned. "Nothing, nothing. Just irritated how married guys can always get the girl."

What.

Jesse stopped mid stride, blinking owlishly down at the empty glass before slowly turning back to Genji. "Marri...what?"

"Though! I mean, it's only 'technically'." Genji air quoted. "You could say it's a perfect marriage too, hasn't seen her in ten years! It's legal separation at this point." He laughed. "Don't think he's ever had the head to take on a mistress like father. But come ON, it hardly counts after this amount of time. I'll tell you what, might unwind him just a _bit_."

Jesse's head swam as he grabbed for the back of Genji's chair for balance and peered down at the chrome helm. "Still? Wouldn't she have left after that amount of time?"

"Left? Her? People have killed to own the power of our name. I doubt she'd leave that behind just because he was missing."

Jesse's fingers bit into the leather cushion as he realized he was gripping it hard enough to rip. "What of him?" he asked, staring down at his reflection in the steel. "Why does he remain attached?"

It wasn't immediately answered, Genji's expressive hands lowered to settle on the armrests as he rolled his head back to glance up at Jesse upside down. Even with the years around the cyborg reading his blank faceplate was difficult, and the drop of Genji's voice either meant he figured them out, or there was still something left to figure out. "I guess you will just have to ask him."

Jesse crossed the car within five long strides. Genji observed, but didn't stop him, returning to stare out the window as the mountains darkened.

The dining car had a cozy atmosphere. More people were gathered, talking quietly over their drink and small meals. A compact bar was gathered at one side, not large but well stocked all the same. Hana sat a table near it, her own neon pink drink before her as she chatted happily with another traveler. A young man that seemed star struck by meeting D.va, and Hana drank it all in with rosy cheeks.

Hanzo was nowhere to be seen, but the empty glass at Hana's elbow indicated he didn't go far. Jesse carefully maneuvered his way through the tiny tables, past the bar, when he did notice Hanzo step out of the restroom at the far end of the car. The archer didn't get far before McCree stepped in his way.

"I want to talk to you." Jesse loomed unintentionally, but the insistence was clear.

"About what?" Hanzo wasn't ever bothered by height, especially when used as a threat, intentional or not. He merely finished drying his hands on the cheap paper towel and tossed it backwards into the trash.

"In private." Jesse touched at Hanzo's elbow, reassuring the urgency.

Hanzo looked at him, noting the tone of voice, but then leaned to his left to peer around McCree's bulk to were Hana was chatting with the young fan.

Jesse was a calm, rational fellow, these days at least, but anger had a way of throwing rationality right out the window. Right now Jesse teetered on the edge, logical thought warring with emotion as he tightened his grip on Hanzo's elbow and crowded him further against the restroom door. "Preferably now."

Now Hanzo took it for what it was, his own chin rising as he grew just as rigid, ready to defend himself. "I do not know what has upset you." He stated firmly, pulling McCree's fingers from his arm with a painful yank. "But it will have to wait."

"I don't much like being played." Jesse managed to keep his voice low despite the churning of his stomach, but couldn't help the clench of his teeth.

Hanzo's brows knitted in clear confusion and he shook his head. "What Genji has been say-"

A sudden slap brought on shocked gasps and the crowds attention, Hana's loud outburst had Hanzo out of Jesse's cornered assault like a shot.

The young man's face had a nice, red hand print across one cheek where Hana had slapped him, and he looked downright livid at the action. His own hand was raised in attempt to return the favor to a very startled and somewhat furious Hana.

The strike never landed, his wrist grasped mid swing and was twisted. Next thing he knew he was shoved face down across the table, dishes flew and shattered as half the dining cart scrambled to get away from the commotion.

"She hit me! She hit me first! Let go of me!" The man thrashed in Hanzo's grip until the strain of bones at such an odd angle ached enough to keep him steady. He huffed, his steamy breath throwing patterns as his cheek was shoved down on the table with a fist in his hair.

"Do not ever hit a woman. If you ever draw the ire of a lady to the misfortune to strike you," Hanzo didn't growl, but his tone dragged like gravel, "You will _take_ it and you will _walk away_."

"He wouldn't stop touching my leg!" Hana defended, bolstered by the rescue.

"Equality! Equality!" The man shouted. "I get to slap her back-ARGH!"

The arm was twisted further until his shoulder threatened to pop of it's socket. Or Hanzo shattered his thumb. Whichever gave out first. "What did I _just_ say."

Bones creaked, wearing away the man's bravado until he shook his head into a faint whimper. "Take it and walk, take it and walk.." he groaned.

Hanzo debated, harming him further to get his point across fully, but ultimately decided against it. He straightened up, releasing the arm so the man could stand as well, but not before shoving him back the moment he stood. "Now walk."

A small spattering of confused applause accompanied the man's retreat, which in turn just pissed him off further. "Maybe teach your kid not to be such a whore!" he called back.

Hanzo's knuckles cracked as he balled his hands into fists, not afraid of being tossed off a train because he had broken someones kneecaps.

"He's not my dad!" Hana yelled right back, twining her thin arms around Hanzo's clenched one and smiled contently up at him. "He's my boyfriend."

No one looked more startled then Hanzo himself, though McCree came in a close second. Jesse didn't see the subtle wink Hana gave Hanzo, just the glint of her eyes as callused fingers wrapped tightly around slimmer ones and tugged her away, chased by elated giggles. Jesse wasn't given a second glance as they passed by him, save for Hana's suggest smirk before reaching the car doors.

An elderly woman smacked at her dozing husband several rows down as the crowd settled to excited murmurs from the show of chivalry. He startled awake mid snore and smacked his dry lips.

"You never did that for me, Howard. What am I supposed to think of you as my husband?" She accused, scowling at him.

Howard, blinked his eyes into focus, peering after the younger couple as they ran off then looked back to his wife of 53 years. Thin lips curled in a sagging face before he answered. "If I caught anyone touching you like that, I would excuse myself from interrupting and return to my nap."

She smacked him again with a huff.

 

Once they reached their shared room Hana whirled, her short skirt twirling as Hanzo firmly shut the door behind them.

"I think he pissed his pants when I said that, haha! Call me old fashioned, like centuries old, like don't tell any other girl, but you know..." she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, "I really did feel like a princess being saved by a prince."

"I am no prince." Hanzo remained by the door, watching her enthusiasm cautiously.

"A king then." Hana stopped to pace, her face falling into deep concentration. "A king who lost his kingdom and leads a ragtag group of misfits to protect the kingdom that isn't his anymore. Along the way he finds his long lost brother and...and...I should be a director!"

Hanzo eased as the trail of conversation took several u-turns and he settled back against the door, debating on sitting until Hana grabbed for his hand again.

"It could be a fantasy with magic and dragons and fancy vocabulary." She gasped suddenly with an epiphany. "Winston is the wise wizard, Tracer is the goofy lesbian overly optimistic street urchin, and McCree's your loyal steed!" She paused, questioning her line of thought. "He looks kinda like a horse, doesn't he?"

The implication itself had Hanzo flush unwillingly, even when he shook his head to disagree and school himself he couldn't hide the tinge of pink that seeped across cheekbones. "He does not."

"Alright, a centaur then." Hana didn't connect the dots, but drew a different picture instead, smiling coyly at the coloring. "And the king can save his beautiful, young Queen."

"Acting. This is all acting." Hanzo stated firmly, straightening upright as Hana shifted closer, reaching up to loop her hands behind his neck.

"It doesn't have to be." she whispered softly, fingers twining with the fine hairs at the base of his neck, her round eyes gazed between his before flicking to settle on his lips. She wet her own in anticipation.

Hanzo pulled back, grabbing at her wrists to try and tug her hands free. "No."

She only tightened her grip as she tried in to tug him down. "It's alright." she cooed, "Please. Let me..." Hana raised on her toes, pressing firmly against him, to push her lithe form against his solid one trying to entice his into ravaging hers.

All of it was for naught when he only gripped her shoulders tightly and pushed her back at arms length. "Hana, stop this."

Snapped out of her momentary seduction Hana stared wide eyed up at him, wriggling to free his grip, confused and almost embarrassed. "Wha...why not?" she mouthed, searching his eyes for the answer.

But there was nothing there, nothing she could read, no pain of denying himself her pleasure, no fucked up excuse for being a martyr of the flesh because he felt unworthy. He simply shook his head, releasing her the moment she stopped pushing back. "I do not feel the same." Was the only explanation he was giving.

Hana's searching eyes hardened then, like a pendulom swinging she shifted to rage in an instant. "Why? Why not?!" She shouted, shoving at his chest. "What's wrong with me? Is it because I'm too young? Huh? HUH!?" Another hard shove had Hanzo almost sway with the effort.

He only lifted his hands to stave off another push. "That is not-"

"Then what is it!?" Hana wouldn't let him finish. "Am I not pretty enough? Am I not _good_ enough? Was our time together not as fun as I thought it was? Did you not _care_ at all?!" Hana didn't bother keeping her voice down now, fury unleashed lead her to the stark and cold realization that she was actually being rejected.

Hanzo grabbed for her wrists again as she started to pound on his chest, tears threatening to spill, but she refused to let them drop. "I do care!" he insisted, his own voice rising to slice cleanly through hers before lowering again as she let him speak. "Not in the way you want of me." He stated carefully, quietly, pressing her palms together between his.

The sheer honesty had Hana's chin trembling and she stepped back, pulling her hands free to curl them into the fabric of her skirt. "I hate you." she hiccuped and smeared the back of her hand across her mouth, glaring over her arm. "I said I hate you!" she shouted louder, bolstered by his unresponsive concern. Comfort was no option to offer, not from him, so he took it head first, the muscle in his jaw jumping as it clenched.

The tears gathered but refused to fall, more ashamed of falling to pieces as she shoved past Hanzo to the hall outside. Then she ran. He watched her go, shoving past several bystanders, including McCree, who had wandered close, but not enough to hear.

The cowboy had extended a hand and a concerned question toward her, but in her rush just to get away she stumbled past him and into the next car, most likely to confide in Genji. They always confided in Genji.

Hanzo stood rooted in the doorway, ready to explain himself to McCree, but when the cowboy did look back to him there was only a tight lipped frown that tugged at his beard, the confusion only replaced with disappointment. Jesse shook his head and tugged the brim of his hat low over his eyes before he turned and walked off.

There was a cold place deep in Hanzo's chest. A place long whipped into a corner where it shriveled and hardened, left forgotten and unneeded. Watching Jesse turn his back knocked it free, ripped it open where it shuddered and bled.

Hanzo stared at his retreating form, blood running cold, when he realized that alone left him devastated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ditt jävla ålahuvud - You damn eel head  
> *Sore o oku - put it down


	19. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hell is a warning?
> 
> none

He was doing that thing again.

Granted the four of them had settled into the slow Illios tourism town for two days now, not finding a single clue, and they've started to grow lax in their search. But was that any reason to sleep in public? In the middle of the day? When it was _noisy_?

They had taken shifts to keep a look out, prowl around the sleepy town for any sign of Reaper, but it seemed as soon as they arrived he vanished.

Hana outright refused to take a shift with Hanzo and Jesse had to firmly remind her they were on a mission and that was first and foremost. She gave him a reluctant nod and fell quiet, but always seemed to be up and ready for Genji's shift.

The rule applied to Jesse as well. He did have a little more practice keeping work and play separate, but the days of sitting around started to grate on him as well.

Jesse checked his phone again. Athena was remotely watching the feeds, alerting them the moment Reaper was spotted on any one of the numerous cameras around the town. Two days. The thought that they were being tracked so easily and the wraith skipped out the moment they arrived started to itch under his skin.

Fingers tapped along the phone casing as Jesse found himself glancing back over to Hanzo's slumbering form for the fifteenth time. The ribbon had returned to his hair, draped over the wicker chair backing as he rested a cheek against his own shoulder. He wasn't serene in his nap, still tense, hands tucked under his elbows, frown evident. So much for keeping an eye out.

The two also hadn't exchanged words that didn't pertain to why they were on the island. At first they never had a chance to speak privately, setting up their schedules and mapping the area into sections to search thoroughly with a fine tooth comb. Now, at the casual mention of 'lunch' they did have a moment, but Jesse found himself in the old habit of wanting to remain blissfully unaware. If he didn't look it might not really exist. He knew what they were and he knew what they were not. The question remained, however; was this where he wanted to be?

Hanzo set up the sectors, timed the feed maintenance and suggested several sights around the only port on the island. One, luckily enough, was a small cafe that overlooked the cliff giving a full area view of the open port. He was doing his best to do his job and just keep out of everyone's hair, which wasn't the correct solution either. So there they sat, in silence, the food come and went, drinks refilled several times over as they casually glance out over the port. The wicker chairs were comfortable at least, the air humid but not uncomfortable.

Jesse had just thanked the waitress for the refill, passing several bills in exchange and listened to the ambiance of Greek spoken in soft tones about them when Hanzo decided to make the first move.

“I never touched her.”

By now Jesse _should_ be used to Hanzo's ability to knock him flat on his ass while he was already sitting. Glancing over he found the archer staring up at the ceiling fan lazily spinning it's course, head back against the soft wicker. His gaze drifted toward Jesse, but not far enough to have their gazes meet. “I never had any intention to.”

Jesse shook his head. “I know, I know that, but...” he trailed off, gumming his inner cheek. He felt Hanzo's eyes on him then, studying him as he fidgeted, waiting for him to continue.

“So I was a bit jealous. I'm human too.” He blurted out, “Just got a little caught up.” Jesse risked a glance toward the archer. He was only met with a stony reserve that offered nothing. His own drink expressed more. “Shit.” he muttered under his breath. “Forget it, it's not important.”

Of all the reactions Jesse expected a chuckle wasn't one of them and it all but made him bristle, shooting a glare to Hanzo. “S'not funny, Shimada.”

Hanzo quickly shook his head, “I am not laughing at you. I am...merely astounded how foolish I have been.” The smile fell into deep concentration. “And I have always been so observant.”

McCree quickly squashed the humiliation grasping his lungs, “You didn't notice how you managed to string us along? I don't even know how you did that with Hana. Is that what you're playing at? 'Cause the whole gullible act doesn't suit you.” Jesse rubbed at his eyes, this wasn't the place or the time to fight.

“I..no, I did not...” The cool, calm, collected Hanzo stumbled over his words, trying to explain something he wasn't sure he understood. “I did not know-”

“Not know _what_? That you wouldn't get any kind of affection? That you're just kinda sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop? What kind of man do you take me for?” Jesse bit out. His voice was low, but just as potent as he leaned over his arm of the seat towards him.

Hanzo didn't reply, staring down at his hands, fingers entwined tightly with each other. A tongue flicked between his lips to speak, but words failed him. McCree was right, on all accounts. He hadn't expected affection, especially from the cowboy who since a month before he couldn't keep his threats behind his teeth.

He didn't expect it because it's never happened before.

Hanzo met the glare, the heat of McCree's temper, willing himself to say something. Anything.

Nothing came, so McCree filled in the void. “I realize now my own stupidity. I don't know a gad damned thing about you.” He deflated, bouncing back into the wicker to pick up his drink and just sip at the watery lemonade.

“Since I could walk I was trained to the traditional weapons: katana, yumi, tanto.” Hanzo delved in with no hesitation. This was his offer, his apology to McCree. “Not particularly for the knowledge of the wielding such weapons, but for the discipline they provided.”

Jesse fell into listening, reluctantly caught by the sharp timber of Hanzo's baritone.

“When I finished the secondary schooling I was already well versed in kenjutsu including kendo and iaido. At fifteen I took my first life. I was given the hit and escorted off the castle premises. When I succeeded I was allowed back and given my birthright.” Hanzo tapped his left shoulder, indicating the tattoo hidden beneath the shirt.

“Before I could lead I had to learn to serve. Since Japan has no working military I was smuggled into the South Korean army. The RoK. Bribery only goes so far with money and favors within their government, so for sixteen months I was a private in the infantry, at the bottom, slogging through the trenches, unable to rank. After that I followed my Father around the world, followed business as well as learn more appropriate combat techniques; Krav Maga in Isreal, Kali in the Philippines, sniping in Canada.”

McCree found himself transfixed. Honestly he didn't expect a diverse background from the ex-Yakuza. He always had this image of Hanzo swinging a wooden sword beneath blooming cherry blossoms for decades.

“By the time I turned 25 I was already heading several 'activities' ranging anywhere from simple threats to government conferences.” Hanzo's talking abruptly ceased and Jesse found himself mentally tripping at the sudden halt.

When nothing further came Jesse knocked his knee against Hanzo's own. “Yeah, and?”

“That year I was handed a bride and told I had three months to prepare. We wed that fall.” Hanzo took a drink to indicate the end of the story. The explanation wasn't rushed, carefully enunciated with as much emphasis as if he was checking prices at the local supermarket. The words themselves held no weight because they weren't important, not to him, just another step on the ladder. Jesse realized with some guilt that he actually felt relieved.

That answered those questions. But it also brought up hundreds more. Unfortunately the first one blurted out surprised him more than it did Hanzo. “S'why the bow? You know all kinds of weapons, why that one?”

“It is silent.” Hanzo answered confidently, “Even with a silencer a gun makes a distinct noise recognizable by everyone.” He paused a moment hen countered, “Why the revolver? It is outdated.”

Jesse wasn't expecting a return question, but when it came he leaned back, propped his ankle across one knee, and shot Hanzo a wink. “S'loud.”

The grin shared between the two broke down into light laughter that lifted both their heavy spirits for the time being.

A loud crash behind them had the two on their feet, Hanzo's hand settled at his back, fingers pressed flat where he kept the dagger sheathed. Jesse gave a little more control in keeping his own hands away from where he concealed Peacekeeper.

All sorts of food had spilled from a particularly large haul of orders. Gyros and sandwiches had been individually boxed, ready for delivery, but the stack had fallen and now an angry mother was smacking her grown son with her apron as he furiously apologized.

Jesse stepped forward, hat in hand as he offered the woman a concerned “Ya'll alright, ma'am?”

The plump middle aged woman regarded him curiously, almost suspiciously, until he realized she was trying to decipher his accented words. So he tried again, “Are you alright?”

Understanding fell over her and instantly shew threw her hands up in a tantrum. “These people!” she ranted in heavily accented English. “Everryday, want fiftay gyros. Too much!” She threw her hands over her head in frustration. “My son, only have motorr-moped. Must carry fiftay boxes farr away.” She gestured vaguely to the North. “And do they tip monay!?” She paused at that, her rant ending as she shot Jesse a faintly guilty shrug. “Mebbe. Mebbe tip a lot. But still imposseeble!”

“Wouldja like some help, ma'am?” Jesse slipped into concerned traveler seamlessly, kneeling to help wipe up the mess. “Are they all going to the same place?”

Hanzo remained by his chair, hardly concerned with giving the image of nice tourist. Instead he glanced back to the port and settled once more into his chair and let Jesse have his social fun.

“Mmm, they dig. They come in and they dig.” The woman explained, calmed enough to wipe her hands on her apron. “Good lots.”

Jesse paused scooping up a handful of lamb. “The dig? The excavation site?”

“Dig, dig! With s'ovel!” The woman made a digging motion with her hands, returning to shouting as if the louder the word would explain for her.

Jesse's patience was rather impressive as Hanzo watched out of the corner of his eye. The cowboy merely waited for her to finish the repetition of the single word with a bob of his head. “Dig, dig, I get it. I didn't know the site was open.” He shot Hanzo a look, catching the archer watching and offered a half smirk and a wink earning him a flustered glare.

But Hanzo did take the look for what it was _supposed_ to be and pulled out his own phone to scroll through the feeds in the nearest area. There weren't cameras on the actual site or around the walkways leading to it, the closest ones were on the outskirts of town watching the gates which had before revealed nothing. He shook his head at Jesse who merely returned to speaking with the woman.

By the time Jesse finished and left the cafe with a free baklava Hanzo was already some distance down the street speaking with Athena.

Jesse hurried to his side, peering over a shoulder to the screen he held. “Anything?”

“The feeds are not on a loop. Everyday the delivery boy passes these gates at about the same time.” The video played of the man on the moped strapped with four feet of boxes perched precarious on the backseat, puttering down the small dirt road. “The site is reportedly closed, however, and all personal pass through this town.”

“Unless they fall right out of the sky.” McCree hrmed in, “Fifty guys is difficult to hide. It's worth a look.”

Hanzo tucked his phone away and paused near a postcard rack sitting against the window of the corner tourist shop, plucked one and shoved it at Jesse. “This is one.”

Jesse fumbled with the postcard. It was a grainy photo, probably filtered all to hell to make the shot look older than it really was. A square hole in the ground in the midst of fallen ruins. A jutting cliff flanked the site on one side, rising several hundred feet. He turned the postcard this and that, squinting at the grit to try and see what was so significant about the site. “Still have the idea this is a distraction.” Jesse grumbled and pocketed the card.

“And if it is?” Hanzo continued on.

“Guess we can still shorten their numbers if anything. I'll call Genji and Hana, see if they're awake enough to uh, help a bit. Not that we need it.” Jesse grabbed for his own phone.

“You carry thirty six bullets, McCree.” Hanzo scoffed at him.

“So? You carry three and a half arrows! I hardly see the problem.”

Hanzo couldn't stop his laughter from the sheer absurdity of Jesse's confidence. “Your reputation precedes you, McCree.”

Jesse cocked his hat. “That I'm a damn good shot?”

“Overzealous.” Hanzo smirked and pulled out the key to their rented moped. The town and frankly the island was too small for full sized vehicles.

“Don't worry baby, McCree will protect your pretty backside.” Jesse smirked, reaching over to snatch the keys out of Hanzo's hand. “And I'm driving. You drive like a damn bat outta hell and I've had plenty enough near death experiences along these guardrail-less cliff roads.”

Hanzo nearly scowled, side eyeing McCree, but ultimately gave no fight. Instead he swung his leg over the back seat, thighs wrapped snugly around the pleather cushion and patted his lap. “Come then. Show me how a cowboy drives.”

Jesse had to bite his tongue to keep it in his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Approaching the site the two had to meander through gates, closed down signs and barricades that couldn't hold back a lazy cow. Old as the fences were there were no signs of tampering besides the faint rustling of a single gate which was easy to assume was made by the delivery boy on his daily journey. It was hardly the disturbance of fifty bodies.

As it turns out the 'site' was actually several sites loosely clumped across the small valley. Cresting one hill didn't offer much in the way of a view, the forest grew high and dense between the ruins. Centuries of unrestrained foliage ran it's course and filled in the gaps made countless decades before to reclaim what was taken.

The moped was left by the trail end. Hanzo took a moment to assemble his bow and quiver over his shoulders, including a small pistol and dagger he kept hidden on his person. “What is your plan of action upon finding them?” He asked.

“Not sure yet. Legally we can slap them with a charge for trespassin'.” Jesse yanked out his concealed holster and strapped on his loved hip one before settling Peacekeeper in a more comfortable weight at his side. “If they aren't doing anything to garner probable cause we'll most likely be doin' a lot of watching.”

“If they do find something within the site they could be arrested for stealing national treasures.” Hanzo added on in thought.

Jesse side eyed him, “I don't think that would exactly stop Talon.”

Hanzo nodded at him. “No, but it might annoy them. There is not always a way to attack directly. Something so small and petty could easily be overlooked.”

“I've a feeling you're leading up to something here.” Jesse started through the overgrown path, slapping branches and leaves aside.

Hanzo cast him a curious look. “Did Blackwatch not use underhanded ways to take out their opponents?”

“I'm sure they did, I jus' wasn't really part of …. of _that_ part.” Jesse murmured, these deep critical thought plannings wasn't his style, usually leaving that up to whoever ran the raids. The vague answer didn't go unnoticed and Jesse could practically feel the stare itching on the back of his neck.

“Have you never wondered why an elite global fighting force had a branch of climatology? In _Antarctica_?” Hanzo pressed, wanting to make his point.

But Jesse only shrugged, ducking another branch that nearly cleared the hat from his head. “Bein' the good guys, thought we cared about weather and sciency advances.” Why did everyone always expect him to know the intricacies of BW? He was just the trigger guy. Point. Shoot.

“Until only half the equipment they order show up on delivery and they are left running circles through a bureaucracy where the other half of their funds mysteriously disappeared to. Meanwhile Blackwatch gains a hefty sum of ammo and riot gear.” Hanzo nimbly swerved and ducked through the branches instead of crushing through them.

“Sounds like you've done it before.” Jesse paused as they crested the next hill and looked down upon a long empty site.

“Embezzlement is it's own craft.” Hanzo stopped beside him, still regal despite the humidity making his well kept hair tail wilt. Jesse's did the opposite, puffing up around his ears and under the brim of his hat.

They pressed on without verbal indication. Walking in silence Jesse had to admit; Illios was beautiful. The trees sang with the sea breeze, indigenous birds scampered among the leaves and shared their thoughts with the newcomers. He inhaled deeply, taking it all in, sights and smells alike, and hefted a satisfied sigh. Glancing to Hanzo showed his partner didn't feel the same. He was focused, chin low and eyes forward, alert and ready.

“You need to get out of your head sometimes.” Jesse frowned at him, leaned over and poked his greyed temple. “Ease up, we're not doing that stuff here.”

“It is merely a theory.” Hanzo defended, swatting the hand away with a scowl, only to tighten when Jesse laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders to jostle him further with a small shake.

“Ain't what I mean, sweetheart. Just take a moment to really appreciate the beauty here.” Jesse beamed at the man.

To his surprise Hanzo did pause to look, glancing up to let the sunlight dapple leaf prints across his face, the harsh lines about his mouth softening, his lips looked so plush when they weren't consistently pressed. Nostrils flared as he took in the rich soil after a summer rain, the rustle of thick leaves in the salty sea wind and the overall tranquil peace that came with being outside a city, away from people, from humans, from standards.

Jesse couldn't remember why exactly he had been upset with him in the first place. Marriage, previous ex's, families, lives, nobody at his age came without baggage, including himself. And who really expected Hanzo to waltz into a _courtroom_ to finalize a divorce?

He hadn't realized he'd been staring, watching the wind lift the stray hairs tugged loose, until hazel eyes met his own. “It is beautiful.” Hanzo conceded, a soft smile lifted the too sharp features into it's own rare sight.

But the moment passed before it even started. A shadow passed behind his eyes and he shrugged off Jesse's arm. “Wasted on the soul of a killer.”

Jesse inwardly groaned and was about to give Hanzo a god damned earful when the creeping scent of decay snapped both men alert. Peacekeeper was in hand, but kept the barrel to the ground. Hanzo immediately fell back, but didn't reach for his bow, instead tapping fingers along the line of his pistol's grip. There was no sound besides the ambiance of the forest. Even that prickly sense of something nearby or watching wasn't tingling and despite all technicalities Jesse always trusted his gut. It was reminiscent then, someone came by this way.

“Next site is just North.” Jesse eased the hammer back into place but kept the revolver in hand as he glanced back to Hanzo. “Jus' cover me. If they are Blackwatch they'll know my face anyway. Shouldn't know yours.”

Hanzo merely nodded and glanced up to the towering trees above them. Wiping his hands onto the front of his pants he leapt for a low branch and pulled himself up and in an instant he was lost among the leaves above.

Jesse charged on. He didn't bother trying to be quiet. With the amount of branches and foliage he had to muscle through there was a good chance he could hear someone as big and cumbersome as Reyes making just as much noise.

That is, if he was moving.

He _was_ right in that there was no one nearby. Jesse had to heave another half mile closer to the sight before the scent became so antagonizing he had to pinch his nose to keep from gagging.

Sensory overload cost him a few moments of perception when the rustle of leather was heard it was entirely _too_ close. By the time McCree whirled to his left and raised his revolver it was slapped aside, discharging with an earth shattering bang, too loud for the quiet forest and sending bark flying as a clawed fist snapped Jesse's head back. Blood exploded across his tongue as he found himself sprawled over broken twigs.

“What are you doing here, McCree?” Reaper's voice was the stuff of nightmares, deep and smokey, ragged and twinged of something synthetic. However, the true fear that churned deep within Jesse's chest was the familiarity of it.

Jesse scrambled to find his feet, but the comment itself was so casual Jesse was momentarily confused if he was even in danger. The backhand that followed quickly reminded him.

The simple smack gauged through his skin, leaving several long gashes from temple to jaw, stumbling him backwards before he caught himself. He spotted the glint of Peacekeeper half hidden beneath dead leaves some feet away. A lurch for it only brought a steel toed boot to his ribs and a groan of pain from his throat as he was once again introduced to the forest floor.

“I can honestly say you were the last person I expected to see here. Don't tell me you're running with them too.” Reaper cocked his head, the stark white mask, seeing it this close, was actually stained and cracked. A faint billow of smoke seeped right through the eye holes as they turned down to McCree. “Can't believe Winston even took you back. Must be out of pity.”

Jesse's lip curled back in a snarl and he spat a stringy mixture of blood and saliva onto the mask. Reaper didn't flinch, didn't wipe away the bright red as it slowly dripped down the creases. “Fuck you, Reyes.” he hissed as Reaper crouched just out of arms reach, his own arms draped loosely over his knees. Poised, unconcerned. Casual.

The stench of decay nearly won out Jesse's own tang of blood, threatening his senses. “I go were I'm needed.”

Reaper merely stared back, “Not much use in an early grave, but I'm sure that is where you are most needed these days. I'm actually surprised you're still alive, being the one trick pony and all.” The white mask tipped toward the revolver still several feet away.

Peacekeeper's glint remained at the corner of both their eyes. Sitting, waiting. Jesse dared not reach for it again.

“Y'might know I've learned a few things over the years.” One thing he did learn; keep them talking.

A claw tipped finger smeared through a drop of blood working it's way down the mask, scraping a gash through the stain. “You mean your back-up?” Reaper thumbed over his shoulder behind himself. The same shoulders shook as the chuckle rumbled like a bubbling cauldron. “I'm actually insulted.” the chuckling crescendoed to crumbling bricks.

The gesture was so familiar, even the shadow while he squatted, which Jesse's seen hovered over him after a thorough ass kicking many, many times. Jesse's thoughts threatened to drift down memory lane, a distraction he couldn't afford even as the images of Reye's many faces shuffled before his eyes.

“Ya gonna underestimate who I brought.” Jesse curled his gloved hand against the crunch of the dried leaves on the forest floor, coiling his legs underneath himself, ready to spring.

“The cyborg, huh. Not surprising. C'mon, McCree, have you truly forgotten me?” Jesse could almost hear the smirk in Reaper's voice.

Movement came easily in a burst, feinting toward Peacekeeper only to hook an arm under Reaper's knee as he also sprang from his crouch and Jesse used his own momentum to slam the wraith onto his back, the force of Jesse's weight narrowed to his elbow as it landed right on the monster's throat. “How could I forget!”

 

Hanzo had followed along via treetop, keeping a sizable distance from the cowboy as he advanced. The archer was near, but not close.

Jesse had continued North and Hanzo had just pressed an arrow between his fingers that held Stormbow as he continued to maneuver through the branches, keeping a close eye on Jesse's immediate surroundings. A shift to Jesse's left caught his attention and he crouched low, slipping around a trunk to gain a better view. So enraptured he either missed or misjudged the sturdiness of one of the branches and it snapped the moment he shifted weight onto it.

The tumble didn't last, Hanzo twisted through the air into a controlled fall just quick enough to land onto his feet and roll forward into a crouch with only the soft crunch of brush beneath him.

A sharp, human whistle behind him had Hanzo spring to his feet, but the cock of a hammer froze him in place once again, his back still to the assailant.

“Quite the tumble.” A distinctly Hispanic woman's voice spoke some distance behind. “Didn't even manage to break a nail. Color me impressed.” She chuckled, footsteps crunching indicated her movement. “Go on, lemme see those nails, right above your head. That's it.”

Hanzo slowly lifted his hands, his bow already somewhere on the forest floor and several arrows scattered. He made no other movement or comment, waiting instead for further instructions. Apparently, that wasn't the correct response, or the one she wasn't expecting.

“Oh come on! That was clever, you gotta admit it.” She snorted, now distinctly closer. “Alright, alright, Amigo. If you're gonna be like that I'll let you keep your little gun. Even though it's useless now.”

Hanzo felt tapping right on the grip of the pistol where it was hidden beneath his shirt.

“I dunno why you got one when you have that bow and...arrow......wait. No. Way! I don't believe it!” She laughed and there was a sharp slap as she smacked her own forehead. The creak of leather followed her as she did so, indicating sweeping erratic movements, the gun could be pointing anywhere. “You! You're supposed to be _dead_! Haha! Instead you snuck halfway around the world with...with _them_! Isn't this just my lucky day. Thee famous Hanzo Shimada. The great and powerful crime lord to a criminal empire, as clever as he is _nasty_.” She rolled the 's' and clicked the 't' as if sampling a delicacy. “Caught, because he fell down trying to climb a tree.” The bubble of laughter swayed behind him. “Shorter than I thought, too. You just aren't living up to any expectations today, are you?”

The woman wouldn't see the glare is it tried to burn down the nearest tree. His clumsiness cost him and perhaps Jesse too. The verbal jabs didn't surprise him, but the lack of immediate action and motivation did. So, inhaling deeply and releasing the mounding tension, Hanzo remained silent.

“Still nothin'? Dios mio! You aren't fun at all. A ghost falls right into my lap and it won't even play.” Sombra frowned, her uzi tapping against her chin in thought. She waited for a reply, a retort, a smarmy comeback that she could latch onto and tangle into something obscene.

Words were her weapon first and foremost, her knowledge could twist any seeped fact into a scathing lance to burn her enemies without even touching them. Hell, without being on the same continent as them in most cases. The fact that she was thrown into a technological dead zone to fend off a flank was just annoying, but it didn't make her helpless. It made her restless.

Most of her targets spoke back, either to beg or shoot off a smug reply, which she preferred. They liked to play, the more challenging the opponent the more enticing the game. The cocky ones were fun, even if they were the easiest to outplay. Bagging someone with the resounding pride like the elder Shimada opened up avenues of new games. If only he'd pick one.

“The silent ones always have the worst to hide. Actually that's not true, everyone's got secrets. Dirty, dirty secrets. And I'm not even talking about your attempted fratricide.” It was faint but there it was, the first tell, the faintest jerk of his head. So he was listening.

Painted purple lips twitched into a wider grin.

“So let's play us a game, mi amigo. Just us. Hmm? No Overwatch. No Talon.” Sombra stepped closer, her voice softening to a light coo. “No Rina. No Mirai or Jun.”

Hanzo stopped breathing.

“Nomas tu y yo.”

He felt the unmistakable jab of the gun barrel between his shoulderblades. Bingo.

Before the last word was out of Sombra's mouth Hanzo twisted sharply to his right, clearing the line of fire instantaneously. With his arms already raised he swept his right over her left extended one and locked her elbow, forcing her to drop the uzi or risk a broken elbow. It fell with her sudden gasp, into his awaiting hand.

Sombra's initial reaction was a surprised step back, a quick attempt to pull out of the grip on her arm, but an ankle hooked hers, throwing her balance. He released her arm to send her sprawling on her ass as he jabbed his free heel into her gut to keep her down.

Grasping at his ankle Sombra choked on the flourish of pain, twisting to protect her organs as her own gun turned against her, blinking up at the barrel and beyond, Hanzo's narrowed glare.

“Wai-” She tried, but was cut off.

“Watashi no kachi.” He stated flatly then proceeded to unload the clip into her skull.

Or he would have, if she didn't take that moment to teleport away. Instead the bullets drilled a hole into the soft dirt until the magazine emptied and his hand trembled from how tightly he clutched the trigger.

Without pause to wonder where or how she disappeared, Hanzo pulled apart the uzi and threw it out into the forest to be forgotten before snatching up his own bow and took off.

He had to find McCree.

 

Three miles away, on the other side of the site near the hidden drop ship, Sombra materialized in a puff of ozone, startling several operatives lounging nearby into running off to get back to work. She tumbled over her own feet until her knees buckled and she fell into the dust, clutching at her chest as her heart threatened to pound out of her ribs.

At other times being thrown in the dirt would down right piss Sombra off. Getting dust out of her hair and the intricate hardware wires wrapped about her body was such a fucking pain in the ass. However, the recent brush of death knocked that out of the priority list as the adrenaline burned through her veins.

Dust coated her tongue and choked her gulps, crunching unappetizingly in her teeth, but for the moment she didn't care.

Sombra laughed. She laid down on the dirt, long nails gauging trails through the dust, and she laughed. She rolled onto her back and laughed up at the sky. It was blue, so very clear and vast and omnipotent.

Eventually Sombra's laughter settled into rolling snickers then to nothing as she licked at her dried lips. Carefully, she picked herself up and staggered into the drop ship to make a call.

 

They grappled. Reaper kept Jesse away from Peacekeeper and Jesse mostly fought to keep his throat attached. It did occur to Jesse that Reaper wasn't unarmed. He had his shotguns somewhere on him and could have ended this quicker if he truly desired. With a spiked forearm clamped tightly and threatening to puncture his trachea Jesse tried to find some comfort in that knowledge.

Luckily, Reaper didn't lock the hold, instead the claws of his free hand dragged across Jesse's forehead, leaving more rows of shallow cuts in the thin skin. “You've resorted to your old haunts. Proof, deep at his core a man cannot change.”

This close the cloying wash of death nearly suffocated him and it was only the sudden drumming shots in the distance that gave him enough distraction to jerk forward in attempt to flip Reaper clear over him, but even with Jesse's aged bulk he still could not compare to Reye's impressive stature and only managed to pull him sideways and used his own weight to throw Reaper on his back with a gargled grunt. The fall loosened the hold enough for Jesse to roll away, springing to his feet with fists raised. His revolver was completely forgotten. “Where else could I go? You took everything. _Everyone_.”

Reaper was slower to recover to his feet. Not because of age or exhaustion, but simply because he knew McCree would not harm him. The rumbled chuckle brought the hairs of McCree's arms on end. “Except you.” it drawled.

Jesse's blood ran cold. He came to that conclusion long ago, long before, in the swampy nights of musty hotels, but it hurt his chest to hear it aloud. Especially, especially from the source himself.

“Always a damned menace, McCree. Could shoot straight, but you constantly cloud your vision with personal judgments and inane bouts of justice.” Reaper straightened to his full height, cracking his neck. “In the end you could never see the big picture.” Thick, inky smoke swirled down Reapers arms, spilling like steam through his eye holes.

“Hardly a larger picture than seeing innocence rightfully defended.” Jesse rumbled weakly himself. His head was still spinning at the concept of being abandoned. Again. Justice just didn't seem like a valid argument at this point, not when his shoulders sagged beneath the weight.

One foggy arm extended toward Jesse, the smoke solidifying into the thick shotgun wrapped in Reaper's outstretched hand, pointed squarely at Jesse's chest. “Still can't see past the barrel of your own gun, McCree. Never had to worry about you getting in my way. Not until now.”

Jesse stared down that wide shotgun barrel, he stared into the bleakness and couldn't find the strength within him to even try and dodge the impossible. Reyes wouldn't do it, he couldn't......he wouldn't...

The muted thump that followed instead of the earsplitting blast had him wonder if the hellfire shotgun had somehow jammed. It wasn't until Reaper's deep growl and turn of his head that showed the long arrow shaft protruding from the back of his hood that Jesse realized Hanzo was nearby.

The archer himself was still some thirty feet away, stalking through the brush as he he grabbed for a second arrow to nock and pull. Unfortunately lifting and aiming a buck shot armed shotgun was quicker.

But the moment he saw Hanzo drawing back the bowstring, the gun faltered. Reaper hesitated.

Hanzo did not.

The second arrow bore right through a steaming eye socket with another dull thump. However this one released a hiss and crackled as head after head of several scatter arrowheads slammed through his skull, prickling through his hood into something that rivaled pinhead. The guns dropped, dissipating the moment they left Reapers hands as he threw back his head and clawed at his mask in an inhuman scream. It warbling high like nails on a chalkboard, his body convulsed in spasms and twisted impossible by human body standards before he burst into thick smog, the scream cut off as it retreated briskly back through the trees and rolled down into the pits below.

Hanzo rushed to McCree, grabbing his shoulders, “Are you harmed? What has he done?” He gave the man a quick once over, patting down his chest and sides for further wounds when Jesse shoved him away with a snarl.

“Why did you do that?” Jesse growled, “Why did you stop him!?”

Hanzo was shoved a second time, confusion stilling his hands at the sudden outburst. “He was going to kill you.” He stated firmly, smacking away Jesse's hands as he attempted a third shove.

“No he wasn't, I know him!” Then McCree's voice dropped to a growl as he grabbed the front of Hanzo's shirt instead to yank him forward. “I know him.”

“You _knew_ him.” Hanzo defended, his own irritation showing as he was being pushed around. “You are not thinking straight, McCree. He had a gun on you.”

“He wouldn't shoot! Not me!” Blood seeped down Jesse's forehead, along the straight expanse of his nose to drip from the tip, smearing dirt and sweat along the way, but it was the blind rage that twisted his features into something ugly. “Let go! I gotta find him!.”

“You cannot go down there. Stop! McCree!” It was Hanzo's turn to wrestle with McCree to keep him back. Grabbing onto his arms and yanking him aside“You are not yourself!”

“What the fuck do you know!? Get off me!” Anger wasn't a fair fight, there were no movement's to track, there was only act and react. A wild elbow caught Hanzo in the temple and his vision erupted into stars.

Hanzo staggered from the blow, but shook it off then lundged at McCree, throwing the larger man back against the spongy bark of a tree. A abrupt slap followed, stalling Jesse for the moment, a ringing in his right ear pulled him from the tunnel vision enough to realize who and what and wear.

“Are you so certain?!” Hanzo shouted back, his own hands fisted in Jesse's serape to hold him in place. “Are you certain he thought of you as a son??” The moment the words were out Hanzo regretted them. The anger that was spinning out of control fizzled out, falling away to reveal what was truly hidden beneath. Heart aching pain.

Licking the blood from his lip Hanzo uncoiled his fingers from the wool and smoothed the fabric. “You do not need him anymore. Not this, not what he has become.” he muttered quietly, pushing on to firmly cup Jesse's furry jaw. “Leave the memory behind. Leave it where it remains. What he is now is something different, twisted and deformed.”

Jesse pressed into the cupping hands as he sagged, eyes closed, but he was listening. “Leave what he was to you at peace in his grave, Jesse.” Hanzo continued, his own gaze unwavering. Jesse's hands tightened around his own wrists then slipped around his shoulders and embraced the archer tightly.

McCree's body trembled against his as Hanzo was slowly tugged down into a jumble of limbs coiled tight around each other. He felt the wetness on his neck before he heard the muffled sob and he held on even tighter. Fingers threaded through Jesse's hair and it was all it took before Jesse finally broke down, face pressed into the crook of Hanzo's neck and shuttering in the tight embrace.

Then Jesse wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations and notes:  
> *Krav Maga vs MMA; there's forums to discuss this type of things, please go there to do so. Krav maga and similar forms is meant to survive, not to score points in the octagon. Often learned by military, police, bodyguards, bouncers, anyone in high stress violent situations and often unarmed.  
> *the whole 'such beauty is wasted..' line is on the Illios map. I know we all like to fantasize he's talking to another person but it's actually the map itself.  
> *Dios mio - something like 'oh my GOD'  
> *Nomas tu y you - Just you and me  
> *Watashi no kachi - I win


End file.
